


Découvrir

by Yilena



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Drama, F/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 215,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yilena/pseuds/Yilena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she reconnects with a forgotten childhood friend, Marinette skirts the line of being reluctantly famous on the internet, and managing her feelings for someone new. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> X-posted at FF under Yilena.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“Oh, please!” Rose moaned, pushing her weight onto the duvet beneath her. “You didn't even set your alarm!”

The body beneath the duvet squeaked in surprise before relaxing their limbs in defeat. “You're _before_ my alarm,” a muffled voice replied tartly. “I was up late working on a project.”

Rose clucked her tongue, a small giggle escaping her soft lips. She rolled off of her flat-mate, settling down upon the fabric while throwing a lace-clad arm around the sleepy female.

Marinette had two options to waking up, unless it was a special occasion where her friends allowed her a few more minutes of blissful sleep, both of which were just as undesirable. University seemed like the holy grail of creativity and freedom. An escape where she could focus on her studies, rather than waking up to the waxing morning sun to absorb the aromas of her family's pâtisserie. She took pride in her family's success—they were a well-known pâtisserie within Paris—but the appeal of a small break was all too tempting.

Her parents had sent her off with sad, watery smiles that were paired with prideful eyes.

“I am not cuddling with you after that.”

The blonde fully dressed upon the covers laughed, a small snort escaping before she squeaked in embarrassment. A habit she hadn't been able to shake, even after all these years. The duo had met in their school's nursery when they were just babes. Rose with her bright cerulean eyes filled with curiosity had toddled towards the other with a skip in her step, and promptly asked whether she'd consumed a crayon to have a peculiar shine to her hair. Marinette had flushed crimson, words stuttering upon her tongue, as the other children had giggled at the confusion.

“Mari,” Rose sang, invading the space left on the single pillow.

She huffed, slipping her head out of the covers to glare. “No!”

“But Alya's out right now—even _she_ was up on time!” the blonde retorted.

That caused Marinette to laugh softly. Alya was notorious for waking up a few minutes before she was due somewhere; the red-head would shriek as she awoke, causing anyone within the small, cosy flat to jump or laugh aloud abruptly. Her bespectacled, fatigued face would appear in a flash as she spouted her reasons for being delayed.

The trio were all studying different courses but had agreed beforehand that if they were accepted into the same university, they'd try to share the same house or flat. Their other friends that were included disappeared slowly, travelling across the country or even to another for schooling. The three were the only ones from their original, solid group left within walking distance.

Marinette sniffed. “Wait for Juleka, I'd like to save myself for someone else.”

“As if there's anyone else,” Rose quipped, falling onto the floor to dodge the punch directed at her. “Come on! We're almost late!”

“We've still got fifteen minutes, and that's not including the breaks!” Marinette groaned, voice muffled by her pillow once again.

The fabric was ripped from her face, duvet forcefully removed, and the brisk chilly air caused her to shiver suddenly. She jumped in surprise from a suspicious sound in front of the bed.

A mischievous smile adorned the blonde's face, white pearly teeth that didn't belong while paired with such an expression, as she clicked the capture button on her cell phone. The pictures were just as bad as when Alya woke her up.

“Will you _please_ stop that?” Marinette whined, hand covering her face in embarrassment as she fell onto her bare mattress. “The _Ladyblog_ is just so embarrassing.”

Rose giggled, shaking her head in reply.

Rose and Alya had a strange hobby together. The two of them needed constant amusement, so when the internet began to play up they had sought out different methods. Alya, the curly-haired red-head who was far too handy with coding and anything computer related, had snapped a picture of Marinette sleeping on their lumpy couch one evening. The picture didn't show too many details of her identity, honestly; only the small curve of her chin and a few strands of dark hair that had fallen out of place. When a softly lit picture of a young female wearing summer nightwear fell into the hands of a bored a tech-savvy girl, however, the worst happened. The two of them created a blog that they teasingly called the _'Ladyblog_ ' which had various snapshots of Marinette in strange positions, sometimes in odd outfits, and always not showing her face.

“I think it's hilarious,” the blonde chirped, tapping away at her cell phone.

“I'll hack your phone.”

Rose snorted. “You still need help getting into yours sometimes.”

Some minutes later a lethargic Marinette trudged out of her room in a faded pair of jeans and a tight white t-shirt, wet hair tied into a high ponytail. The flat they shared was slightly bigger than average; the three of them had small bedrooms each. The only setback of their arrangement being there was only one bathroom between them. The kitchen could have been considered cramped, especially in Marinette's eyes coming from a kitchen-active family, but it was quaint with a small island counter to function as a table and a tiny seating area. The flat was all coloured muted browns and cream, which didn't clash with any of their decorations.

Rose was actively pacing in the kitchen, laptop placed on the table beside her with a page open and waiting.

“I'm not sure how you're expecting to bake without ingredients,” Marinette remarked, eyebrows high at the blonde's attire.

A peach lace shirt, that was transparent and complimented her skin tone nicely, white sleeveless camisole underneath, and small denim shorts were not the usual cooking uniform. Rose was usually practical and forced the others to change clothes to ones that were either old or dirty.

She flushed and stuck her tongue out.

The loud creak of their front door opening was followed by a holler of, “Girl, you didn't even give me enough money! I looked like a fool counting my coins for a few minutes.” Alya's tanned bespectacled face appeared as the voice grew louder. She glared at the blonde, shoving the plastic bags full of ingredients onto the counter before wiping her forehead and fanning herself to cool down.

“Summer fun, eh?” Marinette laughed.

Alya's eyes flickered between the two of them, still glaring.

-x-

Celebrity crushes were normal. Every girl had them—even boys did, too—but sometimes Marinette had trouble understanding them. Watching Rose beside her bouncing on the spot, cheeks lightly dusted in a soft pink, as she watched the screen come to life always made her feel somewhat awkward. Marinette couldn't remember if she had a crush on a film star as a child. The two beside her didn't have the information either; apparently, she'd simply flush in embarrassment whenever they asked, but they'd never managed to siphon the answer out of her.

“It's starting!”

“Yes,” Alya drawled in a forced bored tone.

Marinette rolled her eyes, sifting the flour into a mixing bowl to occupy herself.

“Hey, guys!” An attractive red-head appeared on the screen. The woman was mature, early thirties, with soft hazel eyes and an easy smile. “I hope everyone's ready for today's broadcast as we have quite the treat.”

Rose animatedly vibrated. Maybe it could be considered an obsession. The blonde enjoyed following a certain celebrity's life; watching any show he appeared in, collecting pictures in scrapbooks, and simply trying to follow anything he did. Marinette shook her head with a small smile—it was okay, as long as her friend was happy.

“Here we go again,” Alya whispered, elbowing her lightly in the ribs.

“Hush, you,” Marinette scolded.

“I'm Nadja Chamack and I've once again changed my hair colour.” She laughed openly, running her fingers through the bright strands. “Purple was way last month, you know? I wanted to be fit and ready for today's guest, who I'm sure you all know… if you've been looking up the teasers!”

“Come on, Rose,” the bespectacled girl laughed fondly. “You've seen him lots of times.”

“You lived in _his_ house!”

“Eh?” Alya spluttered, stepping away from the eggs that were in the girl's hands. “I didn't know him—I'd just moved from across the country!”

Marinette swiftly stole the eggs, cracking them into the mixing bowl before stirring gently. The tradition of baking some sort of confectionery had only happened within the last three months—at first, Rose would jump excitedly without being preoccupied and spend large amounts of money on expensive sweets to indulge herself during the shows. Alya had suggested that they work together (mostly to save money, so they didn't have to chip in for the blonde's rent) to replicate some of the products that Marinette's family sold. And so, they were gathered in the kitchen with bright lacy aprons—that Marinette had crafted—with the ingredients for simple cupcakes in front of them (the previous attempts at baking difficult recipes had turned out to be disastrous with their cheap oven combined with Rose's destructively happy force).

“It's Nino Lahiffe!” Nadja cheered, making room for a tanned male to slip into the seat beside her. He grinned widely and waved to the camera, perfectly white teeth standing out. “That's right, the popular star from this year's hit film is here! I'll be selecting questions from fans over social media while we chat quickly.” She turned to face the camera. “Just send in your question to me, and you _might_ be selected and Nino himself will reply!”

“Phone, phone, phone,” Rose murmured, patting herself down to see where she'd hidden the device. Marinette bit her cheek to keep from laughing aloud; she could see the bright pink metal sticking out of shorts' front pocket.

“Nino,” Nadja greeted, tilting her head in a small bow. “Thank you for joining us today! And can I say what an honour it is to have such an attractive guy such as you here with us.”

“The pleasure's all mine,” he replied sweetly. He wore a crisp white shirt, tucked into slightly faded jeans that were just tight enough to make Rose blush (even more so). His glasses were horn-rimmed and thick, a dark ebony which he seemed to prefer, rather than the contact lenses that he usually wore in films. Marinette had spied a few pairs of similar glasses in her flat-mate's room. “It's not too bad, though I must say it's rather hot in here.”

Rose rushed across the room. “We should open the window.”

The show transitioned to a selection of clips from Nino's work.

“I thought you were looking for your phone,” Alya reminded her with a smirk, glancing towards Marinette briefly.

Marinette rolled her eyes fondly. “In your front pocket, Rose,” she pointed out, “but only send one message to Nadja—you don't want a repeat of last time.” Rose had been too busy selecting the best question that the time had run out, but the blonde had been preoccupied and hadn't realised. Tears had appeared upon her eyes, but the floodgates never opened.

“Right, right.” Rose waved a hand dismissively, fishing her cell phone out.

Rose's crush on Nino was awkward to deal with but she tried her best. The tanned boy had been Marinette's neighbour when they were young—before Alya had moved into his house and he disappeared with only a letter in her mailbox—though the memories were hazy. Rose was the source of most of her childhood memories that hadn't been documented; an unfortunate event had caused the young girl to spend a few weeks in hospital and left her with a blurry memory that had gaps that needed to be filled.

Marinette's mother, Sabine, had told stories of how Marinette played with the boy next door. They never ventured into her garden or through the front doors of the pâtisserie (the only time being when her mother had seen flour knocked onto the floor, and small footprints being the only clues about what had happened) and stayed in his house with the thick curtains and private family. Her father, Tom, had introduced himself to Nino's parents and given them their number for emergencies and to investigate where their daughter was spending all of her free time.

Free time that she couldn't remember any longer—if only she'd kept diaries as a babe.

“Ask him about his childhood,” she suggested wistfully.

Nino became a child superstar. He was considered France's sweetheart by the time he was ten, at fifteen he was plastered on teenage girls' walls, and at nineteen he became the mature actor that could play any genre of character. Young Rose Lavillant had become enamoured with him at age eleven; she'd seen his first film countless times and wanted to share her feelings with all of her friends. They had a sleepover at Alya's house and watched the film together (thanking the subtitles for the translations, and the added bonus that they didn't need sound, so the red-head's little sisters wouldn't wake up) which caused Alya to exclaim loudly that he was the previous tenant to her current home.

The blonde had stubbornly ignored Marinette for a week for not telling her.

“That's a good idea,” she agreed with a smile.

“You've done such a range of films,” Nadja remarked, leaning back on her white swivel chair. “Have there been any favourites for you? We've seen you be an adorable child, to a psychotic student, and _now_ to a superhero.”

The male in question grinned widely, adjusting his glasses. “I enjoy them all,” he confessed sincerely, “but so far my favourite has been anything to do with school, especially the older years.”

Nadja whistled.

He took that as a prompt to continue with a shy smile. “My education was mostly from home or between shoots—I haven't been with lots of kids since I was gnawing on crayons. Maybe with my age now I'll be scouted for a romantic role. That would be a change from tight spandex.”

Rose clapped silently at the thought.

“Thanks for your honest answer, Nino,” Nadja commented. “You wrapped that section up nicely for us, but now it's time to answer the questions your fans have demanded to know!”

The questions were sorted randomly. The selected ones appeared in a bubble on the bottom of the screen (which had a small picture of Nino cheering beside it), and as the first lines of text appeared, Alya pretended to be disinterested as she stirred the batter.

Marinette placed cupcake cases, which were red and white spotted, onto a baking tray and began to spoon the mixture into them equally.

“What is your first memory?” Nadja read aloud.

Nino snorted heartily. “Stealing my cousin's toy.”

After showing no indication he was going to elaborate on that comment, Nadja continued to read out questions. The next was asking which underwear he preferred to wear, which he only raised his eyebrows at, and then they continued in that fashion. Inappropriate questions were appearing left and right for ten minutes, causing Nino to wipe a tear from his eye as he still refused to reply to them.

“Here's one that we only just received!” the hostess exclaimed, smirking at the tanned male. “Who is your cousin?”

Nino chortled, clapping his hands in amusement. “Finally!” he exclaimed. “I've been waiting for this question since I was tiny.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes!” His hands were moving animatedly, resembling Rose when she was excited. “His family's much more famous than me, you know. It's really shocking that it hasn't been discovered yet.”

Nadja raised her eyebrows.

“Put it this way, Gabriel Agreste is my uncle.”

Marinette gasped softly. The man mentioned was a famous fashion designer; one of the best in the world, in a lot of people's eyes. He was constantly producing award-winning designs that were stunning and inspiring. There were countless journals within her room filled with cut-outs of his designs, models splashed onto her walls. His son, Adrien, had blossomed into a talented model during his teenage years and had become just as popular as Nino in the past few summers.

“You heard it here first,” Nadja remarked, surprised by the information. “Adrien Agreste, the model who recently won an award, is Nino's cousin!”

Alya knew that Marinette looked up to Gabriel Agreste. She squeezed her hand, just as surprised as the girls around her.

“How did you spend your time before you became an actor?”

It was Rose's question. The blonde squeaked in surprise.

“Oh,” Nino exclaimed, blinking in surprise. He pondered briefly, stroking his chin to exaggerate the moment. “That's a hard one. Before I was scouted and all of this happened, I lived in cosy home in Paris—there was a _really_ nice bakery right near it, too!”

“Marinette—” Rose spluttered, gesturing wildly between her and the screen.

“The daughter was pretty cool, when she wasn't busy all the time,” he laughed to himself fondly causing Marinette to blink in surprise. He still remembered _her_. “Gosh, all I wanted to do back then was play music and have people actually _listen_.”

Marinette placed the cupcakes into their shiny, slightly rusty, oven, set the timer and folded her apron neatly onto the side. She patted her friends briefly on the shoulder on her way past.

-x-

Social media was relentless.

Nino's fans were posting theories of where they thought the actor had lived as a child. There were even maps with suggested streets, or specific houses, circled paired with polls for individuals to vote on which they thought was more likely. Three pâtisseries were the most popular choice and, surprisingly, her family's was listed upon it. No information about the families were listed, however many were considering contacting the residents to investigate whether they knew Nino or not.

Marinette slammed her laptop shut in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was troublesome enough that she had Rose asking her every few weeks whether her memories were less hazy, and whenever she sadly shook her head at her cheerful friend, the blonde would continue and create _another_ scrapbook for future reference. The scrapbooks had been sweet, she thought with a wry smile, though the amount of them that had piled up through the years was extreme. Many boxes were carefully packed and tucked away in her family bedroom back with her parents.

“Nino,” she tried his name on her tongue, frowning. It wasn't familiar—he only came up in conversations revolving around Rose, after all.

But he remembered her. He hadn't mentioned her name for obvious reasons—it would have caused so many problems with her.

An odd feeling spiralled in her stomach. He was supposed to have been her best friend, even more so than the ones she knew from school, and yet he'd left abruptly with only a letter shoved through her mailbox.

The note was crinkled, faded and covered in plastic to protect it from any rips. She shouldn't have held onto it, even after all these years, yet she couldn't push herself to remove it from her wallet.

He hadn't attempted to contact her. There was no communication between them in over a decade; he hadn't tried, nor had she. How would she go about contacting him? Perhaps convincing his agent to allow her to speak to him, though she was sure his job wasn't supposed to entail such things. Nino's enthusiastic fans had surely already tried.

' _Mari,_

_I'll try and come back soon. Look after yourself and please keep an eye out for Marzi. He fought with Plagg last night so I don't think they're friends._

_I will mail you pictures of Plagg every chance I get._

_Don't eat too much sugar. I might have more lives than you but that doesn't mean you can die from all that cream._

_Sincerely,  
Boy._ '

With pursed lips, Marinette re-opened her laptop and loaded her internet browser.

There were zero results for Nino and Plagg in the same sentence. Typing in the latter alone took her to obscure websites that held no useful information to her. She'd asked Rose when they were thirteen, when the blonde was slowly becoming more devoted to her celebrity crush, and she hadn't mentioned anything. Nino had no pets that the public knew of, nor did he mention a childhood toy with such a name. Nino often posted pictures of himself and random objects, complete with silly captions that always managed to make Rose smile widely. However, the question of Nino's agent was popularly searched. There was an address to specifically send fan-mail, such as letters and packages of any sort, while there was an e-mail address listed for business only, which was surely abused more often than not.

What harm could it do? Nino's mailbox was surely overflowing with expensive gifts and grateful letters. Contacting the agent was possibly the best way to catch his attention.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Armand D'Argencourt_  
_Subject: Updates_

_Dear Sir,_

_My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I'd like to enquire whether Boy_ _would like to converse with the baker's daughter from next door. The updates of Plagg never arrived._

_If the name is not recognised, I apologise for wasting your time._

_Sincerely,  
Mari._ '

-x-

It was dumb, desperate and despite how many times she'd tried to mentally manipulate her computer to delete the email she sent by glaring, it was a small weight off of her shoulders. The nagging feeling would disappear if a response ever came. She wanted to fill the pitiful emptiness that was still left within her memories, to complete the bleeding gaps that were still apparent.

“ _You and that boy_ ,” her mother would say, sighing fondly, “ _it was impossible to separate you. He'd hide behind a tree every day, waiting for you to appear. A shy little thing, he was_.”

Internally, Marinette sighed. She forced herself to focus on the present; to perfect her design project for the current semester's assignment. Although her hands were soon smudged with the ebony of pencil, she persisted meticulously, venting her feelings of frustration and converting them into inspiration.

The week passed methodically with Marinette flushing in embarrassment when a picture would be taken secretly of her.

She was standing in line at the local coffee-shop—five minutes from campus, fifteen from their fifth-story apartment—shifting the weight of her feet as the queue began to shuffle methodically when she was shaken out of her trance. Drained faces were the main attraction of the particular shop; the coffee was cheap, hot, and combined with the distance from the university meant it was a hot-spot during the exhausting hours of the day.

“ _Marinette_!” Aurore scolded, whacking her lightly on the shoulder.

She blinked. “Eh?”

“Honestly, if I wanted to talk to buffoon I'd accept one of those dates from the stuck-up boys that keep asking me.” Aurore sniffed indignantly. Her hair was golden, shining like a halo in the bright sunlight, and plaited into a braid that almost touched the small of her back (when she felt particularly playful, she'd poke Marinette or anyone else who ignored her with the soft ends of her long hair). “Now are you going to listen to me or not?”

Marinette's lips twitched. “Yes, your highness.”

Aurore Beauréal was a quick-witted, bubbly girl who was only a few inches taller than Marinette when she decided to have a comfort day and slip into flat shoes. The two had met in the campus library abruptly and somehow hit it off after a snappy argument concerning which one of them could take the last remaining copy of a book. Aurore had insisted on messaging her to see whether she was done reading every night, right on time. On the fourth night, Marinette had sassily replied, “ _It'll be ready when you learn some patience, your highness_.”

Somehow, it was the start of an odd relationship. They met for coffee at least twice a week, sometimes more if they were particularly drained, and sometimes the blonde would invite herself over to Marinette's cosy flat and converse with her flat-mates.

“I'm assuming Rose made you all watch the newest interview, right?”

Rose had only missed one when her internet was out at home. “Do you really need to ask that?” Marinette snorted.

Aurore chortled. “Yeah, I suppose you're right.” Then her expression shifted to brighter eyes and a growing smirk. “Nino's having a webcast tomorrow night, you know? He's been talking about showing 'the big reveal' live, even though he's already spilled the information.”

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable as the flash of her e-mail to his manager reappeared in her mind, Marinette glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Do you think he's going to be talking alone, or will Adrien be there?”

“Gosh, I _hope_ he's there.” She bumped Marinette's shoulder playfully. “Then you can finally be like Rose and watch your poster boy on the big screen.”

Marinette's cheeks flamed. “I have _one_ poster of him! One, Aurore!”

She snickered. “I'm sure it'll become many more soon enough. Then you'll realise you have a crush and gush with Rose—you could throw sleepovers and scrapbook together.”

“Oh, _fuc_ —”

A tap on her shoulder made her yelp and cut off mid-sentence. Nathaniel Kurtzberg waved shyly, bright turquoise eyes shining beneath his scarlet bangs. He pointed to the small notebook in his hand—a light rose colour, white dots scattered over the cover—before handing it over to her.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, flashing him a grateful smile.

He always smiled shyly at her. Whenever they would converse, even if he didn't utter a word, it never appeared as though he was displeased with their one-sided conversation. There were a few rumours about his behaviour (Alya had once claimed she'd read a story where a tongue-tied prince was cursed to trade his voice for the ability to draw where the prince looked _exactly_ like the shy boy Marinette sat beside in a few classes), though none were ever confirmed—he spoke softly to the teacher at times which disproved the mute theories.

“I can't believe I forgot this in class,” she continued, rubbing her cheek in embarrassment. “You really saved me this time, Nathaniel. That's another point to you—you're six ahead now.”

A tally to keep things friendly between them; her only point was from cheerfully passing him his eraser he'd dropped once. The boy was meticulously organised and neat, just painfully shy.

His cheeks stained a delicate pink as he ran his hand through the soft strands of his hair.

“No cutting in queue,” a tart voice declared behind them.

Nathaniel recognised the tone and the whiny quality to it which spurred him to nod in farewell to the two girls and leave with his eyes averted.

“You scared Cherry Boy away, Chloé,” Aurore said with a huff.

Marinette's smile was strained. Chloé Bourgeois was an uppity girl that constantly ran her fingers through her bright golden hair dramatically, particularly when she flipped the long straight strands to emphasise her point. Although her personality was sugary sweet when she wanted something, the cerulean-eyed female had a sharp tongue and had foul mood swings to match. Aurore was fond of her for a few reasons that Marinette wasn't supportive of—entertainment, access to the upper-class students, and for bragging rights from Chloé's family name.

The girl was the daughter of the ex-mayor of Paris. Her father had fallen out of favour when the girls were still young, before Nino had money being thrown at him wherever he went, and although there was someone new in power, the Bourgeois family still held onto their prestigious name. They were active within the community, constantly donating to charity and throwing events that would further their favour within the city.

Chloé had attended a boarding school in another area with Aurore. They'd travelled together for university without realising it—Aurore recognised the tell-tale sound of Chloé's snarky drawl when she was conversing with their private dorm's security guard (it cost triple to live there—Aurore was lucky she'd featured in a television show as a child).

“It doesn't take much to scare him.” She snorted, adjusting the white sunglasses upon her head, making sure her high ponytail wasn't ruined. “Sabrina sends her regards, also asked for you to stop leaving bottles outside of her door.”

Aurore cackled heartily, clapping her hands together in joy. “It's not even me anymore! I convinced our neighbours, lovely people, really, to place them there—told them it's for her class project to save her from looking in recycling bins.”

“Thoughtful,” Marinette said sarcastically.

They ordered their coffee quickly (Chloé's order was the same length as both of theirs combined) and Marinette saw her opportunity and took it. She hugged Aurore quickly, whispering in her ear that she was welcome to come to their flat for the webcast Friday evening and nodded in farewell to Chloé before fleeing to her next class.

Her coffee was still warm as she navigated through the bright walls of her section of the university. Through a window she spied Alya typing furiously at a computer, her face twisted into concentration—the true face of hard work for her was a furrowed brow and her tongue sticking slightly out—which her classmates mirrored.

That damn class was one of the reasons Alya was motivated to keep upthe _Ladyblog_.

-x-

Another picture was deemed good enough quality forthe _Ladyblog_. It was Marinette angrily running through the small apartment in a fluffy white towel, cheeks stained a flaming red. Alya had cackled with glee from successfully snatching her clothes from the bathroom.

It was definitely time to invest in a lock for the shared bathroom, just to try and avoid such an embarrassing situation again.

Marinette's face twisted in horror as she saw the updates on the image. There were more viewers than at least half of the blog put together, and it was _still_ rising!

“No!” she squeaked, silently demanding that the number would just _stop_.

Refreshing the page only made the count go further up.

“Please, no,” she sighed, smacking her forehead on the cold surface of the desk. It was cool against her warmed skin, though it did not soothe her worries. The views and attention were going off the charts (they were rather pitiful before, and even _that_ was bad), even the bad quality captures that had been taken in the beginning were being looked upon.

None of their friends had stumbled upon the atrocious website before. However, now Marinette was more self-conscious than ever.

“ _Hey, aren't you the girl from that site? You know, the one that's either asleep or doing something strange?”_

She could imagine it now.

Goodness, if Chloé ever managed to get her perfectly manicured nails onto such pictures she would be the laughing stock of the university in less than a day. Even sweet Nathaniel wouldn't look her in the eyes again.

The highest picture was her in a towel, the second—by only a few thousand now—was when her white shirt had become horribly transparent from the rain.

Perhaps a few perfectly clean notes of money would convince her two flat-mates to give her some peace.

Marinette sighed. “Certainly not.”

E-mails were the same as ever; updates for classes, conversing with a few students that she was paired with, and the necessary spam that always seemed to be there. The vibrating of her cell phone caught her attention from deleting the unwanted messages.

' _Alya Césaire:  
I'm taking Rose to the store after class. We'll be later than usual but we need to be ready for Nino's webcast—Rose is going all out for the popsicles. Let's just go along with it._ '

The webcast was scheduled for two hours' time still. An uncomfortable feeling stirred within her chest, a frown upon her lips, as she thought about the e-mail she'd sent once again. It had probably been selected and deleted instantly.

She slapped her cheeks to pull herself from the trail of thought. So _what_ if Nino wasn't going to respond to her? He had no obligation to; that was perfectly clear from the lack of communication they'd had for over a decade. Honestly, who did he think he was—how _dare_ he mention her so casually while he was live? Surely, he'd realise what sort of problems he was causing by riling his fans over such information.

Her parents… Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, wondering whether to contact her doting family so late at night (they awoke early to prepare their store, baking all their products fresh every day) or to e-mail and hope for a response the next day. The latter won in the end. She typed out a kind message, asking how they were doing and adding in her own information of how classes were doing, and, of course, mentioning how Alya and Rose were doing. Rather than delving into the entire topic, Marinette simply asked whether there had been a lot of business the past couple of days.

“Hello in there!”

Sharp knocks on her bedroom door startled her awake, bleary eyes blinking at the sudden hazed vision. How had she fallen asleep so carelessly? There were projects to work on, designs to finish, e-mails to worry about—

No. Breaks were healthy as long as they weren't too frequent.

Marinette stretched as she padded to the door, socks long discarded in her red laundry basket, pausing only to check whether her outfit was appropriate to wear around the two devils in the kitchen. A light cream blouse with a sweetheart neckline paired with a soft pastel rose skirt that fluttered around mid-thigh was surely fine—if she could wear it to university that day then a small gathering at home was no problem.

However, apparently it was.

The sight of Aurore with her arm wrapped around Rose, a pristine glass filled with an amber liquid in her hand, laughing heartily was the first sign of danger. Rose and Aurore were wearing matching outfits, surprisingly; soft beige sundresses with the only difference being the colour of their cardigans. Aurore posed for the camera in Alya's hand, enthusiastically pulling the blonde closer to her so their golden hair twined together.

“We're drinking?” Marinette groaned, settling down on their lumpy couch, trying to avoid the worst lump of all right in the middle.

“Man up,” Alya teased, still taking pictures of the two blondes.

The trio were already tipsy when Nino's page turned from black to a static picture. The screen emitted an awful noise as the celebrity fumbled with his camera, trying to set it up in the right place while softly laughing at a quiet hum in the background that distinctively sounded like a shy voice. The camera was only picking up on Nino's shirt as he rearranged the table (it seemed he was in a kitchen, much like the girls watching him).

Marinette sipped her first drink still, the amber liquid burning her throat as it travelled. Becoming intoxicated first before the two armed with cameras of any sort wasn't a smart idea any more.

“Rose, Rose!” Aurore chanted, clapping lightly as she saw the awed expression on the blonde's face.

“Aurore…” Rose mumbled, glaring at her out of the corner of her eyes, which were still flickering back to the screen every few seconds.

“And Alya,” the red-haired female interjected, throwing her arms around the two. The glass in her hand almost poured all of the liquid onto the floor from the movement.

Marinette rolled her eyes. She began to clean up after the tipsy trio as the webcast started up.

“Hey, guys!” Nino greeted, waving happily at the screen. Rose waved right back, as if he could see her. “I'm just going to wait a few more minutes for everyone to get here. They wouldn't want to miss this.” He wore a dark jacket, zipped up but not quite covering a white button-up shirt underneath.

A snort was heard beside him, though barely audible. “The fame is really getting to you.” The voice was smooth and attractive, a tone lower than Nino's, despite the slight static of the microphone detecting the sound.

Nino, surprisingly, stuck his tongue and laughed aloud.

Rose was already vibrating upon the other side of the sofa, shuffling along to lump to steal Marinette's side.

“Oh, is it now?” Nino taunted, teasingly sticking his nose in the air. “I remember a certain someone telling me I need to mind my actions. Apparently, it's not _proper_ to attempt to serenade in public.”

“Serenade, Nino? You were beatboxing,” the voice replied while chuckling.

Aurore appeared by her side, causing her to jump in surprise. “That's Adrien,” she stage-whispered, pointing towards the laptop on the counter.

Marinette jabbed her in the ribs.

She'd seen him in magazines, of course, in articles and mentioned on television at times, though that didn't mean she actively sought out such times; because of such, she hadn't heard his voice before. His father, Gabriel Agreste, was the one she researched thoroughly. Adrien simply appeared in the modelling magazines where they'd interviewed his father at times (one of last year's designs had been absolutely delightful, so Adrien had found his way upon her wall).

Was it fair for a male blessed with attractive looks to possess an equally beautiful voice? The thought of the comic Alya mentioned caused her to snort.

The webcast was stalled for a good ten minutes more which was enough time for Rose to happily pass out popsicles, making sure she kept two for herself as a treat. A second bottle of liquor, curtesy of Aurore's parents, of course, was opened and spilled messily onto the countertop.

Marinette succumbed to the teasing peer-pressure and swallowed the rest of her drink, grimacing at the aftertaste.

“No pictures and I'll drink more,” she compromised.

Alya's grin was wide, showing all of her pearly white teeth, and not at all sincere. “We'll see about that.”

Marinette copied Nino's action from earlier and stuck her tongue out, which caused Rose to roar with laughter until she accidentally snorted, once again. She looked briefly horrified before laughing, too.

“All right, all right,” Nino said, adjusting his thick glasses. “Our food has already arrived so we're just going to start now. Hey, guys! Once again in case you didn't see the interview earlier this week, some interesting news is going to be revealed.”

“Just get on with it!”

Nino yelped, almost losing balance from a dark pillow colliding perfectly with his face. Marinette choked on her new drink, warm liquid seeping into her nose uncomfortably, while everyone but Rose roared with laughter. Rose was torn between comforting her friend by rubbing her back and looking concerned at the screen.

“Wow, thanks, _Adrien_ ,” Nino retorted, rubbing his face with a forced pout.

“No problem,” he chuckled in reply. A blurry body appeared next to the tanned male on the screen (who had decided to hug the lounge pillow in his arms to avoid it being thrown once again), a hand soon appearing to wave at the screen.

Marinette blinked.

“Dude, they know what you look like,” Nino grumbled, poking his cousin in the side.

“It would be nice if they didn't, honestly.” Adrien scooted along the couch, which oozed wealth from the pristine material that could be seen over the internet, until his shoulder was touching Nino's. He smiled at the camera, flashing the same heart-breaking curve of his lips that he was famous for.

The duo didn't look related at first glance. Where Nino was tanned healthily and had dark untameable curls, Adrien was the opposite. Soft porcelain skin, golden strands that curled slightly at the ends, not into ringlets like his cousin's. Nino had deep sienna eyes, a different spectrum than Adrien's bright emerald—even the shapes of their eyes were different. However, when they smiled side-by-side on the screen, the similarities were certainly there, no matter how small. The delicate, barely visible dimples that showed when they smiled sincere, and the shape of their jaws were the ones Marinette could spot immediately from the years of Rose showing her Nino's pictures.

“It's not polite to wear hats inside, you know,” Adrien teased, poking the scarlet hat upon his cousin's ebony hair.

“Oh, sod off,” Nino laughed, removing the hat before attempting to tame the messy tendrils underneath. “My hair was ruined from the rain.”

“So was mine,” Adrien pointed out, “but you've had more than few hours to fix it.” The strands looked as healthy and well-styled as they usually appeared in the news. His golden hair was complimented by the dark gray shirt he wore with a black button-up shirt hanging open upon it.

“Actually, I was busy playing for a few hours…”

Adrien simply raised his golden eyebrows.

Marinette and her friends were silent as they watched the duo converses so comfortably. It was such a surprise after so many years to see how close they really were—just _how_ did they manage to keep their relationship in the dark for so long? They were as close as peas in a pod, and surely they weren't able to hide it sufficiently in public. The events were they sure each other in the camera's eye were limited to ones where Adrien's father had organised or company parties, so perhaps it was easier than she had assumed.

Perhaps the younger version of Nino didn't want his uncle's name to promote his career—or possibly his parents had decided that—but after a decade he had finally decided his career was comfortable enough from his own hard work. It was admirable, really.

“Hey, it's rude to ignore your audience!” Nino countered a jab that Marinette had missed. “I know this is your first time doing this, but you can't just interact with _me_.”

“I wouldn't mind,” Aurore mumbled under her breath. She winked as she made eye contact with Marinette.

Adrien froze visibly for a second before composing his expression. The soft dimples were gone as his smile became gentle, almost shy as he addressed the viewers. “Hey,” he said awkwardly.

“Hey?” Nino questioned, incredulous. “You attack me with a pillow _live_ and all you can say to introduce yourself is ' _hey_ '?”

“I don't know where to look,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Look at the dot on the camera, dude!” Nino sighed, shaking his head in exasperation while muttering under his breath. The blonde beside him simply snorted at his attitude.

The webcast became full of the duo joking with each other, only sometimes addressing their audience. It was as though they were lost in their conversations, only realising sometimes that they were being recorded when things were just getting interesting. Soon, thirty minutes into the broadcast, the girls decided to put the bottles that Aurore had brought over to good use. Whenever Adrien would hit his cousin, or Nino would mock Adrien's inexperience with technology, the girls would take a shot each.

They were becoming increasingly giddy as the show progressed.

“No!” Rose cried, drawing out the vowel. “No, no, no!”

“No!” Aurore agreed, bursting into laughter afterwards.

Alya disagreed, instead saying, “Yes!”

Marinette simply nursed her drink and watched her friends with amused smiles. She wasn't so sure what they were arguing about any more, but their volumes were slowly rising as they continued to repeat themselves. A snort escaped her when Rose stomped her foot to emphasise her point in true Chloé fashion.

Apparently, she'd voiced out her observation since the trio stopped arguing to burst out into laughter. They chuckled, gasping for breath, and continued to spout fits of laugher from each other's reaction; it was a chain reaction that only became worse when Alya began to claw at her ribs frantically.

“Man, do you remember how Plagg reacted?”

Marinette sucked in a loud breath. In her hazy stupor, she waved her hands enthusiastically towards the screen to show just how important this topic was to her. Her friends had knitted eyebrows and expressions of clear confusion.

Aurore was the first to speak. “Pl—”

“No, _Plagg_!” Marinette insisted, hands still frantically gesturing to the screen. The cousins were laughing together, a section of the conversation missed from Marinette's reaction. “Plagg!”

“Plagg,” Alya tried, tasting the word upon her tongue. Her expression turned sour as she shook her head.

Marinette, however, took this as a sign of confirmation that her friend knew exactly what she was on about. “You know, Plagg!” she cried, nodding twice for good measure. “Updates—I'm going to get _updates_!”

Rose smiled brightly and poured more liquor into Marinette's glass. They each took a shot when Adrien hit his companion lightly on the shoulder. “Don't be so rude,” he retorted, “Plagg _is_ perfectly healthy.”

“Yes!” Marinette cried, jumping with a fist attempting to touch the ceiling. It was good news, definitely! Whatever thing Plagg was—perhaps a toy, a pet, or even some sort of object—it was okay to the present date. “Adrien!” she cheered, thanking the model for finally delivering the news that had plagued her thoughts for years.

The click of Alya's camera was either unheard or simply ignored at that moment. Marinette chose instead to dance to an imaginary tune within her mind, which Rose soon giggled and joined her in, which slowly turned into her attempting to perfect the ballet moves she'd given up on many years ago.

-x-

Her head was pounding. The sun was oozing like butter through her curtains, causing the young girl to cower into her pillow to escape the bright tendrils disturbing her. A constant tune of disgruntling thumps sounded within her skull, a nagging ache within temples refusing to disappear no matter how much she willed it to. Marinette was sure her dark hair was a frizzy mess, and a much needed shower was calling to her.

She'd slept in her clothes from the night before. It was a surprise that she'd managed to make it to her bedroom at all (especially since the last time she'd wound up in her bed, intoxicated, there had been a certain red-head snoozing right beside her). Nausea had passed by the time she was towel drying her hair on the plush desk chair in her room, the offending white fluffy towel from the most recent picture wrapped around her.

The memories of last night were mostly hazy after the webcast had started. When she'd invited Aurore over for the night it had been for company, not her father's willingness to provide his daughter with too much money for a girl her age. The golden-haired beauty either spent her money on clothes, expensive food to share with others, or party supplies for the strange themed events she liked to throw every few weeks at her entirely-too-spacious upper-class apartment.

Her cell phone only had one message from Alya. It was blank other than a teasing emoticon typed out, which made her gnaw her lip in suspicion. The _Ladyblog_ soon appeared on her screen, bold intricate letters of the title taking the longest to load.

Marinette's face turned as red as the hairband that was holding her hair in a loose ponytail. There was a new entry—dated from last night—which was just as bad as the towel picture. Marinette was actively cheering, or perhaps dancing oddly from the position, with such enthusiasm that her loose blouse had risen up during the pose. Although the material of her blouse was still, barely, covering her brassiere, her flat stomach was fully on display. Of course Alya had managed to capture the moment. Even when drunk, the girl was devious. The picture had already garnered a lot of attention over the duration of the night. How many people wanted to see a jumping girl show her stomach and skin in the process? More than she would have liked, definitely.

Marinette methodically checked her e-mail first to keep her mind focused. She'd think of a good way to retaliate against her flat-mates teasing at a later date. There was no response from her parents, though there was one from an address that she didn't recognise. The subject was entitled, ' _Mille-feuille_ '.

Intrigued, she opened the e-mail.

 _'Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_Subject: Mille-feuille_

_Mari,_

_It's a pleasure to hear from you. I've wondered about you for years, especially when none of my letters were responded to. Thank you for getting in contact with me, though it is strange how sudden your request was._

_Are you okay?_

_Sincerely,  
Boy (who should be a man)._ '

He'd responded.

He _bothered_ to think about her, after all these years—even outside of the interview! Marinette was torn between grinning in excitement and frowning in confusion. The message was short and didn't answer any of the questions that were burning within her. There was no mention of Plagg, or whether it was actually Nino that had responded.

The e-mail address was ambiguous and seemed perfect for a young teenager, not a celebrity who was constantly walking upon a red carpet.

_Bulle-Chat._

Goodness, what was he thinking? And he had the audacity to imply that _she_ was the one that had cut off contact between the two of them! His letters had never arrived, nor had he bothered to leave an address to contact him at.

Marinette took a few minutes to compose herself, thinking of how she could reply to him correctly without giving away that she was a stranger to him. If this really was Nino, the boy that used to hide in his backyard until she appeared to play with him, then she needed to confirm it somehow.

She swallowed the unknown lump in her throat.

 _'Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Boy,_

_Bulle-Chat is a strange choice, even for you. I apologise if this seems rude, but I'd like confirmation that this isn't a joke._

_How many lives do you have?_

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

Perhaps the message would bring up the topic of the hastily shoved good-bye letter that she'd received. The parting words had been that he had more lives than her; surely, he'd reply with how many to refresh her blank memory.

To keep herself from simply sitting and waiting in front of her laptop, Marinette closed the device down and changed into clothes for the weekend.

A cruel smirk spread across her lips as she saw the time. Eight o'clock in the morning—her hungover flat-mates were sure to be in bed.

_PREVIEW: 'Your face isn't everywhere, but it is in my mind.'_


	2. 02

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently there's 8-9 chapters on FF, so I'll try and catch up quickly on here. Thank you for reading!

 

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

There was a steady beat coming from inside the flat. Marinette held her key by the lock, staring warily at the stained wood of their door. Her flat-mates were supposed to be at lectures at this time. Tuesdays were the one day where her schedule allowed her to have the whole flat to herself, to be able to work peacefully in the kitchen where there was more arm room to stitch and sew. To her horror, the kitchen looked like a crime scene. There were stands of hair thrown carelessly all over the countertop—even the _stove_ —and the two girls who were happily swaying to the music playing didn't seem to care. Marinette clutched her books tightly to her chest, taking deep breaths because she just knew that she'd be the one to clear up the disaster later that evening.

“Rose,” she choked out, finally realising where all the golden hair had come from. The blonde's long, silky hair that previously reached the small of her back had been hacked off roughly, none of the lengths matching from first glance. Despite the mess of a haircut, that was still on-going from the gentle clinking of scissors she could hear, Rose was beaming happily at her.

“Mari, there you are!” she cried happily. The girl behind her swayed with Rose's movements, somehow managing to focus on the strands while not bothering to restrain the bubbly girl before her. “This is the friend I've been telling you about!”

It took a few seconds for Marinette to connect the dots.

The girl before her, with equally golden hair that was combed into neatly separated dreadlocks that complimented her bright hazel eyes, was the shy partner that Rose had been paired with some weeks ago. Apparently it had been uncomfortably awkward between the two of them at first, but Rose had been ecstatic when they began to converse outside of classes.

However, that didn't answer any of her questions. “That doesn't explain why you're here hacking your hair off,” she paused to check the time on her cell phone, “when you should be in class for another four hours.”

“Mylène and I are working on our project here.”

She blinked. “Your project is _not_ your hair.”

“I'm sorry about this,” Mylène Haprèle apologised quietly in a soft tone. Her voice was sweet, much like the expression in her eyes. “I mentioned that I'm experienced at cutting hair, and Rose insisted that I do hers.”

Rose nodded happily. “Yeah, she's really good! You should see some of the photos on her cell phone.”

Hopefully she'd walked in just as they started. Marinette simply nodded in acceptance as it was too late to talk her friend out of such a drastic decision. For years the blonde had complained about the short length of her hair when she was younger, so Alya had encouraged her to grow it out gradually. It was finally at the length that she'd always dreamt it to be, and she'd allowed her new-found friend snip carelessly at it.

Marinette shuddered at the thought of that happening to her hair. She tugged at the ends of her black hair, thankful that it was at the manageable length of just above her breasts.

Her family's pâtisserie was booming with business, according to her parents e-mail. There were groups pouring into the small shop all through the day, causing there to be a queue leading out of the doors most of the time. Apparently, the weekend had been the worst yet; there had even been a young girl who'd paid her way to the front of the line one-by-one. Although they came to ask questions, the brightly coloured treats that were displayed through the glass counters almost always caught their attention instead. Sabine assured her that no information had been leaked. The day was bound to have happened someday soon, she'd typed, and insisted that Marinette didn't come home for a visit until the business had calmed down a bit.

It was good that they were earning more business from Nino's selfishness. No, that wasn't quite right… Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, demanding herself to stop being so bitter. So _what_ if he'd only just began to mention her? It had been the same night that Adrien had been mentioned. It was the perfect night to reveal things, clearly.

As she was mulling over her thoughts another e-mail had been sent to her. Marinette gulped, uncertain whether she wanted to check the contents.

The subject was still, ' _Mille-feuille'._

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Marinette,_

_I used to have nine, as you always insisted, though in the current years I think it's dwindled down to around five. If I was anyone else, your last question would've been ignored. This is not a joke, princess. However, I can understand your caution._

_My last e-mail account was tampered with. This was the first phrase that came to my head, for some reason. I suppose I'll always be a tad childish._

_How are you doing? Do you still wear your hair in twin-tails?_

_Sincerely,  
Boy (who wishes to be a man)._ '

The message had confused her more than it had comforted her. Nino, the mysterious boy who still had her in his thoughts, could still remember how she used to tie her hair for school every day. Her heart felt tight, liquid suddenly harder to swallow than before. Goodness, she couldn't even remember a thing about him, and here he was being just so—

Marinette let out a strangled gasp when she realised the significance of the subject title. That had been her favourite treat from her parents when she was younger—they'd brought it to her damn hospital bed when she'd awoken! She couldn't bear to eat it often from the memory, but he _knew_.

He wasn't the shy boy next door she'd been told about any more. He wouldn't hide out of sight from the world while waiting for her to appear; it was the other way around. Nino was the active celebrity, and she'd be in the shadows simply waiting for a small message that would pull on her guilt and heartstrings simultaneously.

She should have ignored it, chosen not to continue their conversation, but there was a chance that he was _still_ logged into his e-mail.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Boy,_

_Why have you been so careless with your lives? Even if you have plenty, they are precious and need to be protected. Perhaps you should invest in bubble wrap. Then you'd really become a bubble-cat._

_I am fine, thank you, though I am wondering whether this means you're a prince. I'm surprised you remember my hairstyle, but no, I haven't worn such a style for quite a while. It's not very fitting for my age._

_You still need to update me on Plagg._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

The e-mail was sent before she could regret it. Later that evening, when she was sat beside Rose who had a short, neatly trimmed haircut that brushed her eyebrows, it really sunk in that she'd sent an e-mail to Nino with such an inappropriate tone. If he never replied, she'd understand perfectly why.

“No,” she groaned, pressing her warm forehead into the cold material of the couch. “I'm such an idiot, Rose.”

“Yeah, you are,” her friend laughed, wrapping an arm around her comfortingly. “What did you do now? We can wait a bit for Alya to come, too, if that's what you want.”

Marinette shook her blazing face which was still pressed into the couch. “Boy troubles,” was the most accurate phrase that she could blurt out.

“Boy troubles,” Rose parroted, voice thick with awe. It took a few minutes for her to process exactly what the dark-haired female was admitting. Marinette had never finally disclosed any information about her crushes, if she had any, and it had been especially hard to tell whether she was indeed attracted to anyone after they finished high school. She was too focused on school and her future to distract herself with such things. “What happened?”

“I made a mistake,” Marinette whined.

“Well, yeah.” Rose snorted. “That much is obvious from how you're trying to squish your face into the couch lumps.”

“Their discomfort comforts me.” The blonde jabbed her in the ribs. “I've…” Marinette trailed off, making herself comfy first. She sat up normally, hands clutched self-consciously upon her lap. “I've been messaging someone for a few days, and I sent a really embarrassing one a few hours ago.”

Rose raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “That's all?”

Marinette furrowed her brow in confusion. “All?” she questioned, face heating up once again to match her hairband. “He's… probably ignoring me now, as I would if I'd received such an e-mail.”

“Hey, you said message just now. Not e-mail.” Rose crossed her arms under her ample breasts, a forced serious expression upon her face. “Did you sign up for a dating site, or are you sending love letters to someone from the university?”

“Neither!” she gasped. “It just happened!”

“So does pregnancy,” Rose deadpanned.

The topic had gotten out of hand. Marinette spluttered in embarrassment, choosing to hit her friend with the couch pillow as a response. The two ended up play-fighting for a few minutes before they were disturbed by the sound of Rose's cell phone. She squeaked in excitement and said good-bye to her with a tight hug before hurrying out of the door.

There was only one way to tell if she really had the right to be so embarrassed. Marinette loaded her laptop slowly, tapping her fingers along the metal as her e-mail began to load.

Surprisingly, he'd replied just a few minutes after she had earlier.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Princess,_

_I told you when we were younger that I'd still spend my last life with you. The offer still stands to this day. You used to say I'm too immature to be a prince—I believe you didn't appreciate my sense of humour either. Then again, we were quite young. Perhaps you've corrected your corrupt thinking by now._

_Your twin-tails were always cute. I'm sure you could still pull them off._

_Plagg is paw-sitively great, thank you for asking._

_Why did you never respond to me? I'm sorry if this is too intrusive, but it has bothered me for years._

_Sincerely,  
Your prince._ '

Colour rose to her cheeks. Her throat felt hot, constricting tightly as her hand shook upon her touchpad. She'd been expecting to be shot down, to be told that he wouldn't converse with her, a stranger for a decade, in such a way, but the way he'd responded was as if they'd been involved in some way. She— _she!—_ had apparently toyed with the idea of him being a prince when they were still small children.

Nino thought she was cute. His words were sweet, charming, and the pun he'd typed had completely slipped her mind.

“Plagg's a cat,” she concluded quietly. Whoever Marzi was—another animal, perhaps—had had a fight with the feline before Nino had moved away. There were a few pets in her neighbourhood, but she hadn't heard the name Marzi before. When she'd awoken from the hospital and eventually been discharged, the young female had tried to sort through her hazy mind to find answers before venturing outside for clues. There had been no answer to whom Marzi was before.

She tugged on her ponytail self-consciously.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Boy (who is still immature),_

_I'm flattered that you still remember the offer after these years, but I'll understand if you never follow through. Spend your lives with the ones close to you, silly. If your puns are as bad as the one just now, then I see why you'll never become a prince (even if most of the world thinks you are)._

_Perhaps the years apart have allowed you to see our past through rose-tinted glasses, but thank you for the compliment. I can assure you that that is not the case._

_I was absent from home for a while after you left, but there were never any letters. Your hastily written note never included an address. I suppose the years finally got to me, so I tried to reach out to you._

_I understand if you'd like to stop conversing, also. Your schedule is busy enough as it is._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

He was looking for answers, much like her. With rosy cheeks that felt far too hot for their own good, Marinette sent the e-mail to Nino, internally wishing that he wouldn't take her up on the offer to stop talking. There were still so many answers she wanted to hear, perhaps even from him, if they were able to—

Stopping herself from that trail of thought, Marinette sharply slapped her cheeks. She searched through the papers of her desk, finding her current design project before settling down to work.

-x-

The professor was droning on. Their tone was bland, and posture ramrod straight. There was no Nathaniel to keep her the least bit focused. Marinette began to doodle in the free space upon her notepad, a small smile curling upon her lips. Her previous professor announced that there would be a surprise, an once-in-a-lifetime chance, in their next lesson on Thursday. The possibilities were running through her head like a montage, wondering just what on Earth was going to be offered. The previous years that had graduated were always given a contest where the victor would be able to earn an internship at a prestigious company, or have a chance to work within a hit television show.

Her doodles soon developed into clothes for herself. Although she usually crafted ones for others for projects and as presents, if she particularly liked the person, the idea of wearing her own designs was always very tempting. There were only a few pieces that she still owned that she'd previously created for herself. The drawings slowly progressed into dresses of different styles, each placed upon a stick figure with twin-tails.

When she realised how she'd drawn herself, Marinette flushed and quickly crossed out the heads of each figure.

“Hey.”

A female slid into the seat beside her halfway through the lecture, the movement causing the potent scent of perfume that had been sprayed far too high up—most likely in her hair—to reach Marinette's nostrils. She recognised the tone, too.

“Chloé,” Marinette greeted with a small nod. The professor didn't deserve to be interrupted, especially not for someone she was indifferent about.

She'd heard awful tales from Aurore about her childhood friend. Chloé had been a disaster when she was young, apparently. She'd openly criticise anyone who she felt had wronged her, and had insisted on involving her father in such trivial affairs. When she'd been sent to the prestigious boarding school, where Aurore had met her, it had taken her a few months (or years) to calm down slightly. Her notoriously stuck-up attitude still flared when she was peeved, however.

“Of course you'd be in here,” the blonde remarked, fiddling with her bag upon the desk.

Marinette replied dryly, “In class? I think that doesn't need an explanation.”

“Well, Cherry Boy isn't here, is he?” she snapped before realising what she'd done. Chloé pursed her lips, silent for a few moments as she thought. Marinette thought it was a blessing from the heavens when it looked as though the blonde was about to get up and leave without making her point. However, that wasn't the case. “Look, Aurore told me to invite you to my party. Apparently you're pretty good with your hands.”

Marinette simply blinked. “Okay?”

“Well, we can't just have someone without any talent waltzing in, can we?” Chloé defended, reaching into her cream bag. A rose-coloured slip of paper, covered in plastic to protect it from any stray liquids or tears, appeared in front of her as the blonde began to trot away once again.

The professor continued on as if nothing had happened.

It was an invite to Chloé's high-class apartment—which she had never been invited to before—that weekend. Apparently, the security guard had to be shown the invite so no one that wasn't intended would be able to come. Names were upon the paper, too.

Aurore had somehow managed to get her invited. There was no doubt that there would be some sort of influential figure at Chloé's flat; the female was famous for parties that were on par with Aurore's. The only difference was that Aurore's had themes, while Chloé's were with individuals that didn't attend the university.

A third-year girl had managed to snag a modelling deal at one of Chloé's parties before. She was on the front cover of a magazine a few months ago.

Inspiration to create her own clothing flared up once again.

-x-

Mireille Caquet was the girl that snagged a modelling contract at Chloé's party the previous year. When she'd graduated, the company had hired her for additional time, and per her suggestion the company was offering an opportunity for the university. The professor enthusiastically announced that there would be a contest at Christmas, a month away, for designers to create their own masterpiece of a gown or suit that would be modelled by them just before the holidays started.

Marinette was practically buzzing in excitement in her seat. Inspiration was running through her veins, making her heart beat fast and loud within her ears, and goodness, she couldn't _wait_ to get her hands on the perfect fabric to caress her skin—

Such thoughts had made her miss the announcement of who the judges would be. Marinette looked at the awed faces of the students around her, wondering just _what_ she had missed that had caused such a reaction. Surely, it was just the higher-ups or a representative of the company, so they would know exactly what they were hiring for limited amount of time.

There were murmured whispers of excitement, though nothing that she could make out.

“Please design carefully,” the professor advised, “nothing too far-fetched, as this will need to be _completed_ before the term ends.”

-x-

“This is perfect!” Alya cried, fingers tapping at her cell phone immediately.

Marinette pulled her black t-shirt down angrily. “Alya!” she hissed, trying to reach for the offending cell phone. “That's not _fair_!”

“But you're so fair and perfect,” the red-head cooed teasingly. She dodged out of the way of Marinette's flailing hands with a laugh.

“This is not what you originally wanted to do,” the smaller female tried to make her see reason. “You wanted a blog that people would visit for information…”

Alya snorted, shaking her head. “Nice try, but no, Marinette. The _Ladyblog_ was actually mentioned in my class today, you know?”

“What?” Marinette gasped, hands clutching at her fast beating heart. No, _no_. This couldn't be happening so soon! She had tried to prepare herself for the moment when the free that shared their flat weren't the only ones to know about who ran the blog, and more importantly who was featured in the photographs were, but she hadn't expected it to be within Alya's class. “Oh, goodness…”

Alya bumped her shoulder into Marinette gently. “Hey,” she started, touching the end of her friend's nose with her index finger. “I didn't say it was mine. I wouldn't do that to you.”

“But you'll post strange pictures of me on the internet,” Marinette grumbled.

“There's no nudity!” Alya defended herself. “It's just… suggestive images. They're actually quite interesting, if you pay attention.”

“Oh, really?” Marinette snorted, grumpily folding her arms beneath her breasts. “The details of my skin, or the amount of times you've managed to almost show nudity?”

The red-head stuck her tongue out childishly. “Neither! We were discussing in class how photographs can influence emotions, and how looking at certain things can make you feel one way or another.”

“I swear, Alya,” Marinette forced out through grinding her teeth together, “if any boys mentioned how they felt from your blog…”

Alya burst into a fit of giggles, throwing her arm fondly around her friend. “No, silly. The ones that have seen it were actually saying they felt happy when you were, though I can't deny that there's probably more than a few perverts lurking.”

“Gosh, that really helps,” Marinette replied sourly. “I suppose I should put that on my résumé.”

“Sure, if you're going to audition for a strip club,“”Alya teased.

After chatting to catch up on their day, Marinette retreated into her room while Alya began to cook dinner for that night. She sorted through the very designs she had doodled in the free spaces of her notes, intending to recreate them separately in the fresh sketchpad. The aromas of Asian cooking began to seep through the rack of her door, distracting her momentarily to inhale and realise just how hungry she really was.

Alya had taken control of cooking their dinners after they realised just how convenient it was for her to do it. Marinette's projects were usually the slowest, as she changed her mind the most out of the three of them. Rose was limited between Spaghetti and plain rice, so she was the worst for cooking. Alya's mother was a renowned chef, so she had grown up learning how to create delicious savoury meals, whilst Marinette had learnt all about the sweet side of dishes.

Marinette stretched and logged into her e-mail, intending to tell her parents about the competition. Sometimes, they sent over more money than she needed so she could afford the softer fabrics that were a while nearby.

However, instead she found herself opening the reply from Nino that she'd left unread the night before.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Princess,_

_If you'll accept me and my silly puns, I'll be honoured to have you in my life. Unless you suddenly woke up as a troll, I'm sure you're still very beautiful. Have you dyed your hair, or does it still have that pretty shine to it?_

_That's very strange. I sent you letters weekly for a year, and then monthly for another. My last letter to you was six years ago. I apologise for not telling you beforehand that I was leaving, but it was just as sudden for me._

_Please don't stop writing to me. It's nice to talk after all these years. My replies will be slow for the next few days due to travelling, but I hope you won't forget about me._

_Yours,  
Your prince (who is a boy)._ '

What had their relationship been like as children? Had he always been so sweet and flirty, or was this a recent development? Marinette willed her cheeks to cool, for her heart to slow down, silently _demanding_ that her body fell under her control once again. This was her childhood friend, not someone she was seeking a romantic relationship with! He would _never_ look her way for such things—especially not with all the travelling, and the difficulty they had with keeping in contact as it was.

Marinette gnawed on her lip as she opened up the browser. Nino's mature face appeared on her screen; it was a recent picture from a red carpet event, the premier of his latest film. He was clad in a tight ebony tuxedo, the white shirt contrasting greatly with his tanned skin. The glasses he usually wore were gone, unruly curls tamed with professional help.

There was a certain charm to him which was undeniable. Yet looking at his picture didn't make her heart flutter or cause any reactions that reading his messages had.

“Goodness, I'm turning into Rose,” Marinette groaned into her palm.

She wouldn't turn into the girl that furiously checked her e-mail to see if he'd reply. Nino had a busy schedule, and held no obligations towards her. Thoughts needed to be solely on forwarding her future career. She needed to be ready for Chloé's party soon and the contest at Christmas.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Young prince,_

_It depends how awful and frequent your puns are. There's only been one so far, so I'm quite willing to accept you. My hair is still very much the same, though I doubt I can say the same about you. I've seen more than a few styles through the years._

_Perhaps you had my address wrong? I worry for you if another girl received all the letters meant for me. Did you only post information about Plagg? I'll forgive you in time, I think. This is a bit embarrassing to say, but I kept your letter with me all these years._

_I wish you luck with your work. Hopefully everything goes smoothly, and then you can reply happily to me. Forgetting about you seems impossible—your face is wherever I look within the city._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

After a quick reply to her parents, mentioning the competition and just how happy she was to be in the selected section of the university to participate, Marinette took her sketchpad into the kitchen with her, making sure her pencil was securely tucked behind her ear.

“Alya,” she sang, waltzing into the potent smelling room. The red-head was stirring the contents of a steel pot upon the stove, waving over her shoulder in greeting. “Rose won't be here for a while, she said just leave her some leftovers.”

“With Mylène again?”

“Yeah,” Marinette agreed, setting their small table with bowls and cutlery with a soft hum.

“You're happy,” Alya observed with narrowed eyes. Her glasses were slightly fogged over from the steam coming from the pot, causing Marinette to snort in amusement. “What's going on? Other than the competition, I mean.”

“Oh? No, nothing else,” she replied dismissively.

Alya clucked her tongue in disagreement. “You practically skipped in here, and you were _humming_ just a few moments ago. Spill it.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks. She couldn't just say that his message had made her oh-so-happy, could she? So she blurted out the next thing that came to mind, “Chloé.”

The red-head blinked. “You're happy because of that wench? Either she tripped and hurt herself or you've been sniffing glue.”

Marinette choked out a laugh. “No, something pretty great happened, actually.” The invitation was still in her room. “I'm invited to Chloé's on Saturday which I really wasn't expecting.”

“She invited _you_?”

She nodded dumbly.

“Girl, that's great!” Alya shrieked, tightly hugging her in support. “Oh, goodness, do you know what you're going to wear? Any idea who's even going?”

“Probably something I've made myself,” she admitted shyly. “I thought that would be the best idea. I haven't spoken to Aurore yet, but I'm sure she's going.”

Alya laughed heartily. “Aurore _finally_ mentioned how great you are!”

“Just not to my face,” Marinette mused.

“Oh, she'll never do that.”

-x-

Saturday night came around and Marinette found herself sitting on an expensive leather couch, next to a mature guy who's cologne was very intoxicating, with a fancy designer drink clutched in her hand. She'd dressed herself in a scarlet silk dress that had a low back, and came just above mid-thigh. The material of the bottom-half fell down into ruffles that, thankfully, hadn't gotten caught in her coat when she'd taken it off and handed it to the person at the door.

Chloé's apartment was three times larger than her own, though she should have expected that from the price. There was hired help everywhere; the kitchen, at the door to greet guests, and servers to pass out drinks and check that everything was okay. It was _not_ the type of party a second-year at university should have been able to throw. The only students she recognised were Chloé and Aurore, who were sat at the bar talking with the male bartender.

She felt awkward and out of place. There were faces that she didn't know that were happily conversing around her, and the high shoes that she'd worn were already starting to hurt her heels. She resisted the urge to tug her hair self-consciously, instead choosing to clutch upon the end of her dress rather than her carefully styled curls.

When she'd finished her second cocktail—that tasted deliciously like cherry—the male seated next to her finally turned his large form and noticed her sat there. Marinette smiled awkwardly at him, and he returned the gesture.

“First time here?” he questioned.

She nodded, wondering whether it was really that obvious.

“It's a bit much, eh?” he continued. The statement was strange to hear considering that he was dressed up for the occasion. With a navy dress shirt, with one two buttons undone at the top, tucked into a smart pair of dark jeans. His short ebony hair was styled neatly in disarray. “But Chloé's always been over the top.”

“How long have you known her?” Marinette enquired, quietly thanking the waiter as they took away her empty class. A new drink, this time green with a piece of pineapple stuck upon the side, appeared before her swiftly afterwards.

“Too long, probably,” he joked. “I'm Kim, by the way.”

“Marinette,” she replied, smiling softly. The new drink was tart and fruity, though not too unpleasant. From the warm feeling flowing through her, Marinette realised how much she'd consumed in a short amount of time. She gnawed on the pineapple instead of sipping the drink—she needed to pace herself.

“The designer girl!” he said, clicking his finger in recognition. “Yeah, Chloé mentioned you earlier, though she did grumble a bit.”

Her cheeks coloured from the recognition. “It wasn't her idea,” she explained with a small laugh.

“Aurore's kind, isn't she?” Kim murmured. The tell-tale signs of admiration showed in his expression as he looked over to the mentioned girl. Aurore had never mentioned him, unless he fell under the category of the obnoxious males that always tried to hit on her. However, she was sure that she would've seen Kim's large build and broad chest around the campus if he was a student (combined with the tell-tale features of Asian descent).

“What do you do for a living?” she enquired, switching to a safe topic rather than unrequited love.

He grinned happily at the question and flexed the arm nearest to her. “I'm a personal trainer.”

“Oh.” She blinked. That was a surprisingly normal answer, especially for someone that was invited to Chloé's prestigious party. “How long have you been doing that?”

“For two years now,” he announced, grinning broadly. “I'm pretty good at it, thankfully. If someone needs to drop weight or gain some muscle for a film, they all call Kim Chiến Lê—I'm their guy.”

And there was the answer she'd been expecting. Of course he had some sort of connection that made him important. Their conversation turned into polite chat, and she flushed a healthy shade of pink when he complimented her dress. Aurore came and joined them and insisted that Marinette tried another drink which was neon yellow in colour.

Marinette's couch soon became crowded as a few more came over to join them. A dapper male wearing a bright red bowtie named Max was one of the friendliest. His disastrously curly hair became a topic of conversation when he complained about his hairstyle at one point. Chloé trotted over and ran her hand through it, smirking at his distraught expression.

“You could always straighten it,” the blonde suggested, perching herself upon Kim's knee while ignoring his protests.

Aurore, sat upon the arm of the leather couch, snorted in response. “Can you imagine? He'd look like a wet dog.”

“At least he wouldn't smell like one,” Kim remarked, grinning cheekily.

Max scowled at all of them. “I suppose I'll just cancel your invitation for this year's event, Chloé…”

Surprisingly, Chloé laughed at the threat. She played with her long hair, the golden ringlets curling around her finger perfectly as she fiddled. “As if you'd really do that. I invested in you, after all.”

“You also bet that I'd _fail_ ,” he replied tartly.

Marinette simply sipped her drink while the people around her chatted. Although it was awkward to be there at first, they included her in the topics at times, just enough to give a few word answers. It turned out that Max had designed a programme for cell phones that had been a big hit, and he'd known Chloé and Aurore since their boarding school days. Kim had been an upperclassman when they'd attended there.

“Of course, I already _knew_ about Adrien…”

The mention of Nino's cousin caused her to pay attention. “Agreste?”

“Who else?” Chloé replied tartly before biting her tongue from the sharp look Aurore sent her. “Yes, _Marinette_. Adrien Agreste, my childhood friend.”

“I didn't know that,” she defended herself softly.

Chloé sighed in reply.

-x-

“Marinette!” Rose cried as she fell upon the dark-haired girl's bed, landing exactly upon her body. Marinette groaned in reply, jumping from the contact. There was a steady pulse within her temples, the tell-tale sign that she'd consumed far too much alcohol at the event the previous evening. “Marinette, Marinette, Marinette.”

“Rose.”

The blonde wormed herself under the duvet, clinging to Marinette's warm body. “You need to see this interview! I read it on my way back from the store, and you're really going to like it.”

Interview? Rose never went out of her way to pick up interviews about the designers that Marinette admired, so she instantly had to assume who it was about. “Nino?” His name felt strange upon her tongue. Was it strange for her to read his interviews while he was e-mailing her?

“Always,” Rose confirmed with a giggle. “It's a joint interview with his cousin. It came out this morning—exactly two hours ago.”

“It's in bed with us, isn't it?”

The blonde giggled. “It's the only threesome you're getting—or is it a foursome?”

The enticing aroma of coffee wafted to her nostrils, the scent comforting in the early morning sunshine. A steaming mug had been placed upon her nightstand, the magazine tucked beside it carefully so it wouldn't become stained. Rose continued to vent her feelings until her stomach grumbled in protest. Marinette sipped her sweet, steaming beverage thoughtfully from the comforts of her duvet of her single bed, pillows propped against the headboard for support.

The magazine was of high-class quality, usually centred on fashion icons, designers, and actors that had managed to influence the industry in some way. Nino had been featured in it a few years previously, though it hadn't been on the front page. This time, however, he wasn't alone. The cover image was him and Adrien standing side by side, twin grins showing pearly white teeth and identical dimples at the right angle. Where Nino was dark, Adrien contrasted perfectly as the lighter of the two.

It was a joint interview. She skimmed through the first few paragraphs, openly chuckling at the questions that had been asked. They had been all about their relationship, wondering just _why_ they had kept it a secret. Marinette felt proud that she'd thought of the reason correctly—perhaps she still knew Nino as well as she had in the past. He had wanted to make it in the industry by himself, not by being boosted with his uncle's name.

They were close before Nino had moved away to start his career as an actor. Adrien had briefly mentioned visiting Nino's house to share lessons from tutors.

Chloé was his childhood friend. Perhaps she had known Nino, too, through his cousin… She had claimed that she already knew all about their relationship the previous evening.

Marinette wasn't sure whether to regret attending Chloé's small party, or pursue the contacts that she had been, albeit a very small amount. Max, with his healthy dark skin and bright eyes, had happily exchanged numbers with her when she had stumbled her way to the entrance. Kim had followed suit, offering her a strong arm so she'd arrive safely home. They were two popular individuals for different reasons, though none of them were the ones she was looking for. Perhaps they could be friends in the future, if they didn't mind her, someone who'd only been at Chloé's once, pursuing a friendship.

-x-

Nino didn't reply on Saturday. Through sources, that were _completely_ Rose, she had been told he would be busy travelling abroad for a contract deal. The time difference alone would mean that she wouldn't be likely to check her e-mail at the moment that he'd respond, or so she told herself to stay away from the laptop. She anxiously gnawed on her lip, wondering just _why_ she was so excited for the reply—

It was the rush of having a new friend, Marinette reasoned with herself. She was excited to get to know him, to have deep conversations to know exactly what they were like.

Except it would be really difficult to actually _know_ him in person.

Marinette checked her e-mail three times on Sunday, berating herself each time, yet there was still no reply.

“He said a few days,” she murmured.

Alya furrowed her brow. “What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Marinette replied quickly.

The bespectacled friend smirked widely from the unusual reaction. She slid across the lumpy couch, thigh connecting with Marinette's bare one—the weather had been kind enough to wear a skirt without tights that day, clearly the best attire for grocery shopping. Their bags were still on the counters and floor, contents needing to be put away when they finished have a small break.

The sign that Alya was showing far too much attention was when she put her cell phone away in favour of the conversation. Marinette groaned internally as the attention swapped to her accidental comment.

“It's nothing, really,” she tried to convince her. “Just worried about someone.”

“Nathaniel?” Alya questioned thoughtfully, slouching back into the cushion. “I didn't realise he was absent from class last week until he didn't turn up to mine today. Was he absent from yours, too?”

Nathaniel hadn't appeared to her the previous week. She wouldn't be able to tell if he was there for a few more days, but it was still curious. The whole previous year, he hadn't missed a single day; when he had a slight cold he'd appear in class wearing a surgical mask over his mouth. He was dedicated to learning, and it was strange without his quiet presence in the classroom. Even if he didn't converse with her, his small gestures or turns of his head were enough to communicate with her.

“Not last week,” she replied quietly. “It's strange, you know? And to think I never asked for his number.”

Alya snorted. “No one ever did. He just stared blankly at most people, or was too shy and ran away.”

“You make him sound like a wild animal!” Marinette accused, whacking her shoulder in disagreement. “He's sweet, really, just a tad quiet.”

“Tad?” the red-head chortled. “I doubt you've heard him make a noise.”

Marinette crossed her arms stubbornly. “I've heard him cough.”

“And what a feat that is,” Alya remarked, pulling her close into a one-armed embrace. “I need to try and find that comic for you, I almost forgot.”

“The one about the voiceless prince?” she questioned, remembering the previous time it had been mentioned. Marinette had attempted to search for the comic after Chloé's party had reminded her of it, though she hadn't been successful. Nathaniel had never shared any information about his works, and whether he posted them online, and she doubted if he'd really feature himself in his own work. “I couldn't find it.”

Alya blinked. “You looked? I thought you weren't interested in it.”

She shrugged. “It sounds quite interesting, especially since you said the main character looks like Nathaniel.”

“He's quite cute, isn't he?”

Her cheeks coloured a light pink. “You are _not_ setting me up with him—we'd never talk if we went on a date!”

“So you wouldn't be opposed to being set up with someone with working vocal chords?” Alya smirked slyly. “It's about time you finally let me; imagine all the boys that would flock to you if they knew you were the one from the _Ladyblog_.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Marinette laughed, jokingly jutting her lower lip out in protest. “I'm not interested in dating, nor am I going to agree to any bribes you've considered.”

Matchmaking had been one of Alya's talents in high school. She would listen to the complaints of class-mates, and try and decipher their relationships with others. She'd managed to successfully match four couples in their final year, and they'd each thanked her profusely. The success had gone straight to her head when they'd arrived at university, however. Marinette had rejected over ten of Alya's classmates the previous year, which, thankfully, had caused the red-head to doubt her ideas.

“Oh, come _on_!” Alya sighed. “You're going to be a virgin forever!”

“I'm nineteen!” Marinette cried. “It's not like you aren't either!”

She grinned wide and fiendishly in return, always the ambiguous reaction and answer. “Maybe I should just invite a few guys round here instead.”

Marinette huffed. “Oh, no, you can't do _that_ , Alya. Don't you remember the contract Rose made us sign when we moved in here? The only males, who aren't interested in their own sex, that are allowed through our doors are Nino and his relatives.”

“That girl, I swear,“ Alya mumbled into her palm dejectedly. “I can't believe she kicked Ivan out that one time.”

“ _Contract_!”

-x-

By the end of the week, Nathaniel hadn't returned to class. Marinette approached their teacher and worriedly asked whether they knew why the red-head was absent from class. The answer was that he was away for family business and wouldn't be returning for another few weeks. She asked for his contact information, but the professor wasn't comfortable sharing such details without permission.

Alya had managed to double the views of the _Ladyblog_ once again. The snapshot was Marinette asleep on their lumpy couch, pyjamas and all. Rose had cheekily taken a snapshot of Marinette dressing in the morning also, which lead to her ignoring the blonde for good reason.

“Move out of the way,” she said grumpily, lips in a firm frown.

Rose was standing outside of her classroom, blocking the path so she couldn't walk through. The rest of her class was held up behind her, too.

“Mari,” Rose said softly, cerulean eyes wide and innocent. “Please, _please_ , forgive me! I can take it down if you want to, just please, please, talk to me!”

“You shouldn't have posted it!”

“I'm _sorry_!“ Rose cried, hands clasped sincerely in front of her. “I never wanted to hurt you with it. It was just a nice shot, and I thought…”

Marinette frown deepened. “You thought it was okay to show my ass.”

The ever-growing queue behind her alerted her to the nature of their conversation. With a gulp, she grabbed the blonde's wrist and dragged her to an empty corridor. They stood in silence, the pregnant pause between them growing, while she continued to clutch onto her friend's wrist. They stood together, the two looking the complete opposite of each other. Rose with her bright golden hair cut short, and a deep navy dress paired with a white cardigan. Marinette—black hair, loose and wild—wearing her usual attire for practical lessons, a soft-coloured blouse paired with denim shorts that already had paint smeared across them.

“It wasn't to show your… you know!”

“Then _what_?” Marinette enquired. She released her friend's wrist, choosing to cross her arms beneath her breasts.

Rose pouted. “You didn't even look at the picture properly, did you? It wasn't for nudity, but to show off your designs!”

The misunderstanding hit Marinette hard enough for her to sigh aloud. She pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation, realising just _why_ her friend had become so defensive. “That's sweet of you, I guess, but I really didn't want to model them myself.”

“They're gorgeous!” Rose assured her, hands reaching to clutch Marinette's. “I wish you'd make some for me, but that would be asking too much. I just wanted someone to appreciate them.”

One of the many routes she'd taken for designing clothes had been venturing into lingerie the previous year. She'd created a few different styles of each, but had decided that she much preferred clothing. A few of the designs had been saved, and stuffed into her drawers just in case she ran out of her usual lingerie; which, apparently, had been the case when the blonde had taken the picture.

“I'm sorry,” Marinette said softly. “I didn't realise, but I'm still not comfortable with the picture.”

It wasn't fair to Rose. She was taking out her frustrations elsewhere where they weren't justified. It was just the feeling of being left behind building up once again, scratching at her mind from the inside, nagging at her that just wasn't all that remarkable after all.

“If it makes you feel any better, it's only from the side,” Rose remarked sheepishly, “one cheek!”

Marinette laughed. “One cheek too many.”

The blonde smiled fondly, bumping their shoulders together in a comforting manner. They walked with clasped hands through the halls, collecting a hot beverage from the coffee-shop before venturing home. Rose gushed about Nino's activities the whole way, not realising how Marinette tensed at the mention of his name. He'd mentioned to his followers that he'd be arriving in France for a shoot in a few weeks.

Marinette idly wondered whether he'd visit Paris, specifically the part where they had grown up. There was now a large flush park a little while from where her parents lived, a nice attraction to bring in more costumers to their business. Perhaps he'd even have the shoot there, if he held any influence in the decision.

“Do you think he has a cat? The fur was well maintained, from what I could see.”

She blinked. “Plagg.”

“Plagg…” Rose mused, dramatically trailing a finger along her chin as she thought. “He was mentioned on the webcast, I remember now! You kept repeating the name and even started dancing!”

Her face coloured rapidly in embarrassment. “I think you're mistaken.”

“Oh, no,” she insisted. “You even whipped out the ballerina moves! That's the sign that you're a happy drunk!”

“You were hallucinating,” Marinette insisted, self-consciously tucking her dark hair behind her ear.

“Marinette,” Rose sang, dancing around her in excitement. “Did you remember something?”

Of course it was that time again. “No,” she said sourly, avoiding eye contact. “Plagg was in his last letter to me. He said he'd send updates.”

The blonde nodded. “You should really ask for some! Maybe the cat would recognise you still.”

“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “Nino wouldn't even recognise me now.”

“Nope.” Rose agreed with a wide smile. “You're a swan now.”

-x-

It had been two weeks. The deadline for the contest was looming ever closer, becoming a weight upon her chest as she tried to work through all of her designs. There were too many to choose from, though none of them were the correct ones. There was no theme—no _damn_ theme!—to work from; they simply had to impress the judges with their creativity. Marinette gnawed on her lip, throwing another discarded piece of paper into her bin. They just weren't right.

Nothing was going according to plan.

Alya was too busy with her current assignment to spend much time with them. She was busy tapping away on her laptop in her room, only emerging to quickly cook dinner for the trio before retreating into her sanctuary to eat alone. Rose was finishing her current project—which was definitely not her hair—so she had spent most nights at her partner's apartment on the campus.

Marinette tapped her fingers on her desk, waiting for inspiration to strike her. She groaned when nothing came to mind, choosing to check her e-mail instead. Her heart lurched when she saw who'd replied.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Princess,_

_I cannot apologise enough for the delay. I know it's not a good explanation, but work has been hectic. I hope you can forgive me. Purr-haps I can make it up to you soon._

_Has my princess been looking me up through the years?_ _I've always intended to visit your family's shop, but having a free schedule is rather hard, especially with my father. No, my letters were most definitely addressed to the right place—I just looked up your parent's pâtisserie and it's the same._

_My letters slowly transitioned from cats to my life, then they turned into the usual pre-teen angst, I'm afraid. I'm quite relieved you didn't receive some of the last ones; I shiver just thinking about them._

_Thank you for keeping my letter. If it helps, I've saved each of these e-mails just in case this account becomes compromised._

_Your face isn't everywhere, but it is in my mind._

_Yours,  
Your (young) prince._ '

The flirty undertones of his message caused her to flush fiercely, heart frantically beating in her chest. _How_ he managed to get this reaction from her while apologising, she was unsure. Either he had mastered in sweet talking and successfully managed to walk out of trouble with everyone, or he had thought quite a lot about how to apologise to her. Although she felt a few pulses of anger from the neglected, a small smile blossomed upon her lips.

Even after a few weeks without talking, Marinette hadn't given into her urges and sent another message to him. Instead, he'd managed to trail back to her by himself, albeit slowly.

Her fingers were dancing across her keyboard before she knew it.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Young prince,_

_It's okay, really. I understand that you have important obligations that you can't avoid. Just don't keep me waiting for so many years again and we'll be perfect (no cat pun)._

_It's unavoidable that I know about you. One of my friends is a fan, and she likes to give updates about what you're doing (she's sweet, really). The pre-teen angst letters sound quite interesting, actually. They'd be hanging on my walls if I'd ever received them._

_You're a real alley cat, aren't you?_

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

She fiddled with her earrings self-consciously, second guessing the reply for the umpteenth time. Was it okay to be so casual with him? He was surely a flirt to everyone; she just wasn't used to it.

“Stop it,” she murmured, poking the dorky smile upon her lips. “We're friends.”

After looking through various animals pictures, mostly for amusement than inspiration, Marinette's cerulean eyes fell upon the perfect specimen for her design. She saved the pictures to her computer, already removing the pencil that was tucked behind her ear. Dinner was left upon the side for her, Rose still absent for the evening.

She worked through the weekend. When she emerged freshly showered from the bathroom on Monday, there were slight bags underneath her eyes, contrasting with her pale skin. There were no lectures planned for that day as they'd given the students until Friday to prepare for the competition. Marinette's funds had dwindled from the fabric she'd purchased, though the half-finished gown already seemed promising. The project didn't include footwear, thankfully, so she didn't have to worry about such things.

The laptop hadn't been used much over that period of time. She loaded her inbox while munching on her leftover dinner from the night before, almost choking when she realised there were multiple e-mails from Nino.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Princess Marinette,_

_It's un-fur-tunate that that you still don't favour cat puns. They're quite glorious, really. I feel that you're making up this friend—have you been stalking me, princess? I'm flattered._

_I'm an alley cat until you take me into your home._

_Yours,  
Your prince._ '

The second was abrupt and straight to the point.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Princess,_

_Are you still in Paris?'_

He hadn't signed it. Even his good-bye letter had been longer, and that had been hastily written! Marinette huffed slightly before the reason behind his question came to mind.

“ _Nino's coming to Paris for a shoot in a couple of weeks. If I can find out where, I'll be taking you with me to stand outside,”_ Rose had said.

Oh, _goodness_. She knew there was a chance that he'd want to meet in the future, but it wasn't this near in her head! There wasn't any time—she had three days to finish her dress and submit it on Friday, and she knew that the weekend would be her time to hibernate to make up for the lost sleep. If Rose dragged her along to see him in such a state, it would be a disaster. What if she yawned at him, and he thought he was boring her? Let alone the shock that the blonde would feel if she ever found out that the two of them were becoming friends again, and she hadn't told her.

Marinette slumped back into her chair. It was unfair to keep this from Rose… but at the same time, it felt private and oh-so-personal. It wasn't information she wanted to tell everyone she met, or even those close to her.

Nino was someone unobtainable, but he was interested in having a friendly relationship with her.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-fuille_

_Prince Chat,_

_Your puns are terrible, really. Are they getting worse with old age? I'm only stalking you in your dreams—can't have your head getting any bigger outside of there. I don't know exactly where you've been, do I? Strays cats can be hostile._

_I am in Paris. I'm in an off-campus apartment near my university currently._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

 _PREVIEW: '_ _You seem very interested in my licking, though. Do you have something to tell me, my lady?'_

 

 


	3. 03

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be smut in this story, no worries. I'm trying to post one chapter a day to catch up to FF.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

There were cuts upon her fingers, some plasters covering the wounds half-heartedly. The dress was _finally_ finished and was laid out proudly upon her unused bed. Marinette grinned at the creation, fingers running along the soft material. It would be submitted for approval in a few hours. There was time during the weekend to prepare herself to model it before judges the following week, though she needed to practise in her chosen shoes for the time being. Her notes had already been typed up, sorted through, and printed out in a nice pile.

She snoozed blissfully through most of the day, only emerging to gnaw on the food that Alya fondly offered her with a supportive grin.

Rose tiptoed into her room late Sunday afternoon, but the light sound of her high-heeled shoes gave her away. Marinette groaned from her pillow, already admitting defeat by sitting up. The blonde grinned sheepishly at her, pointing to her cell phone to indicate the time.

Alya appeared in the doorway with a dark purple scarf already wrapped around her. ”There's no point fighting her,” she remarked.

“Get out so I can dress in peace, at least,” Marinette said with a pout.

The red-head simply laughed at her while dragging Rose forcefully out of her bedroom by her wrist. Marinette fell back into her pillows with a sigh, an anxious knot spiralling within her stomach. They were going to see Nino in person—something that she'd avoided doing in the past. Rose had accepted her excuses in the past without much question, though this time was surely a surprise for them both. She _wanted_ to see him, but the anxiety was building up.

She was just a student, and he was dubbed France's sweetheart. They couldn't have been any more different if they'd tried.

The urge to check her e-mail was strong. She'd managed to avoid it since her last message, anxious whether he'd really ask her about meeting whilst he was in Paris.

She dressed in a pair of warm tights and a black skirt that fell to mid-thigh, with a beige sweater that was warm enough for the weather. On second thought after glancing out of the window, Marinette wrapped a warm black scarf around her, too. Absent-mindedly she began to fiddle with her dark strands of hair while clicking on his response.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Princess,_

_Purr-haps you're forgetting to appreciate my puns. I can assure you that I'm purr-fectly clean and healthy; I'd be an asset to any home._

_I'm in Paris for the weekend. Do you have any plans?_

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

She'd styled her locks into the familiar twin-tails.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Chat,_

_I am busy with university, unfortunately._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette (who owns no cats).'_

-x-

“I wish I wore boots,” Rose moaned, her back leaning against the cold stone of the building wall. The walk had been fifteen minutes, not including the times where they had to stop because Rose's high shoes were becoming uncomfortable. The girl had chosen to wear shoes that she hadn't broken in before for what she deemed a good impression. “You two are really smart.”

Alya was wearing a warm sweater, much like Marinette, except she'd paired it with dark jeans and laced boots that she was very fond of. They laughed at Rose's complaints, wrapping their arms around her in comfort. She'd already voiced her moans of being cold twice, too.

“You wanted to be here,” Marinette reminded her, jerking her chin towards the crowd. There were more than a few fans waiting outside the building, along with a few photographers and reporters. The trio had arrived late, meaning they weren't able to see Nino when he first appeared and then be able to retreat to the sanctuary of their warm home. The blonde had stubbornly insisted that they stayed until she could see him in the flesh, once again. “Man up.”

Rose sniffed, embracing herself to stay warm. “I will _not_.” She was clad in a soft lilac sundress with thin straps and no tights. Although she was wearing a cardigan, the material was thin and had intentional holes in the knitted pattern. “No one would like a manly Rose.”

“Manly Rose is my favourite,” Alya quipped, grinning at the blonde's disgruntled expression. “My favourite thing of all, however, is Marinette's twin-tails.”

She flushed, self-consciously tugging upon her dark strands. “It looks bad, doesn't it?”

“No!” Rose said, shaking her head. “Don't listen to Chloé!”

“And what if she's right?” she murmured bitterly.

On their first day of university, they had walked through the halls anxiously together while trying to figure out which section they each belonged to. They had bumped into Chloé along the way, who had tartly remarked that Marinette's hairstyle wasn't suited for their hallways, nor classrooms. That had been their first encounter with Chloé, and thankfully the last for a few more weeks.

Alya bumped her hip to catch her attention. They locked eyes, cerulean meeting the deep sienna of her friend's irides, and smiled softly at each other. “Twin-tails are very charming on you, Mari,” she said gently, “I'd tell you if you looked foolish, wouldn't I?”

“Or would you post it on your blog first?” Marinette teased. “I've reported the lingerie picture about ten times so far, but it's still up.”

The red-head burst out into loud spurts of laughter causing some of the fans around them to shoot dirty looks from the interruption. Alya, however, found their reaction more amusing and continued to chortle while holding onto her sides. “Nice try!” She paused to wipe her eyes, making sure her make-up hadn't smeared. “About fifteen people have messaged me asking where they can buy some.”

“No,” Marinette remarked, eyes widening in surprise. “What did you say?”

“I said they were specially made for the model.” She winked deviously. “But there might be some for sale in the future. If you ever had time, we could add a shop section to the site—can you imagine? You could create and sell _Ladyblog_ panties!”

Rose choked with laughter.

Marinette flushed further, stubbornly crossing her arms and ignoring her two friends. They were still laughing together at the childish pun, and Marinette found herself admitting that she much preferred cat puns to those about periods. They amused themselves with banter and a few more jokes to keep themselves busy from the long wait. A few fans detached from the crowd and ventured off home, meaning that the three of them were allowed closer to the doors. Marinette leaned against the cold wall, feeling the kinks in her back already beginning to form. Rose was already bouncing in excitement from seeing movement through shiny glass doors of the company, much like some of the crowd had seen. Excitement whispers ran through the various people, but all Marinette could think was that they'd spent more than a few hours standing awkwardly outside a building just to catch a glimpse of an individual that was toasty and warm inside.

She swallowed the bitterness, trying to give Rose a smile that met her eyes. The blonde had _finally_ managed to get her to come along, and a negative attitude was only going to damper her mood.

“I think he's coming out!” Rose whispered, excitedly holding her two friends' hands. “Do you think he'll stop to talk or sign things?”

“Let's hope not,” Alya murmured, rolling her eyes fondly. “You didn't bring anything along, and I am _not_ going to let you get your breasts signed. You'd go straight to a tattoo parlour afterwards, and then your mother would slaughter me.”

Marinette chortled softly. “You've seen the future, haven't you?”

“Seer Alya at your service.”

The blonde stuck her tongue out at the both of them.

It was another half an hour until anyone emerged from inside. The crowd began to cheer, words becoming muddled and unrecognisable as they were all chanting different phrases or words. Rose cheered happily, while Alya raised her eyebrows at the event.

Marinette stayed leaning against her wall, arms crossed beneath her breasts to keep some warmth. The crowd had moved forwards, trying to get through the disgruntled security guards. The bright lights of camera were momentarily blinding, but she soon became used to the ordeal after a few minutes.

Nino came out with his arm around someone's shoulders. Marinette blinked in surprise from seeing Adrien Agreste, the top model that Rose definitely hadn't mentioned, striding beside his cousin with a sincere grin. Perhaps it had been another interview together, or photoshoot. She was sure to find out what exactly they'd been doing together in between a few days and weeks from Rose's thorough research.

They began to squeeze through the small area they had that hadn't been swarmed by the crowd. Nino was all smiles and laughs, while Adrien was, too, though noticeably quieter. They both tried their best to greet everyone that was there while maintaining eye contact. Nino posed for two pictures with fans, one of which had turned out to be with Alya instead of Rose—she was sure to mention that detail when they were alone.

Marinette's eyes met Nino's gaze, but it was brief and uneventful. He'd simply glanced at her and looked away, smiling at the next girl.

What had she expected? He wasn't going to go out of his way to talk to her, but he could have at least smiled, or looked for more than a second! Her smile twisted into a befuddled frown, anxiety once again swirling around in her stomach. She'd matured, naturally, but her appearance was still _slightly_ the same! Goodness, she'd even worn her hair the way she did when she was younger, but that hadn't even caused a response.

“Friends,” she murmured sourly.

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Princess,_

_I saw you yesterday. Beautiful as ever, though you looked sad. Are you okay?_

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

A bubble of maniacal laughter escaped her lips. She looked _down_? He'd looked at her for less than a second, and he was making assumptions. Her mood had been perfectly fine! Rose and Alya hadn't noticed anything off with her on their way back, not even when they'd settled into their lumpy couch for the evening.

She intentionally took deep breaths, calming the bubbling irritation down. He had no obligations to her, and she needed to remember that.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Chat,_

_I am fine, though I'm wondering whether you're intentionally a flirt to everyone._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

It wasn't his fault. They were friends, albeit distant ones, but that was enough for her.

Her mood perked up during the day. She met Aurore for lunch at their usual coffee-shop and was pleasantly surprised when the blonde had already ordered her a beverage and food while waiting, since she'd been late out from class. They'd chatted for a while, both murmuring about Alya's picture with Nino.

For years Alya had denied being his fan. She claimed that she only watched and followed him in support of Rose's crush, though that really didn't seem like the case in the recent years. It was hard to miss that Alya was spouting just as much information about his appearances and schedule as time went on.

“Good thing you're into Adrien more, eh?” Aurore teased, tucking her golden locks behind her ear. “And yes, I'm well aware that you only have one poster.”

Marinette childishly stuck out her tongue.

“The hair's cute, by the way,” the blonde complimented, smiling sweetly while reaching to touch Marinette's dark locks. “I don't think I've seen you wear it like this before.”

“I used to a lot,” she murmured. “I guess I just felt like it again.”

Aurore smiled. “It suits you.”

Before everyone who wanted to travel home left for the holidays, Aurore planned to throw a party at her apartment. Unlike Chloé's party that she'd attended previously, Aurore only hired a professional to man the make-shift bar that she always set up for the bigger events. When there were only a handful of people, the blonde preferred for everyone to mix their own drinks (within reason). She happily invited Marinette, and extended the invitation to Alya and Rose, too, and Mylène if she was interested, as she had heard a lot of strange tales about her without having the pleasure of meeting. A warning that Chloé would be attending was voiced.

“I'll see you Friday night, then,” Marinette said, wrapping the blonde in a tight hug in farewell.

“Wear the dress you made!” Aurore encouraged, waving in return.

The dark-haired girl shook her head fondly. It was unknown whether the clothes they'd be modelling for the competition the following day would be returned to them after they'd performed in them, but even so Marinette believed it would be a tad too formal for the get together that Aurore was planning. She could, however, wear a slightly more casual dress that she'd stitched in the past.

When the important day rolled around, Alya had given her a tight hug for good luck, whilst Rose had pecked her cheeks lightly and smiled sweetly. They sent her off with smiles—making sure she had the right lingerie on, so it wouldn't be seen through her dress' material, and that her shoes were safely tucked within her backpack.

A streak of shining red-coloured hair caused her to stop in the hallway. Marinette's feet took her forwards without consent, hand reaching to fall upon her missing classmate's shoulder. “Nathaniel!” she called.

The male in question turned his head around, surprise clear across his expression. He opened his mouth wordless, as if to say _anything_ , before closing it slowly. He nodded to her in greeting instead.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded again.

When the warmth through his shirt finally made her realise she was still clutching his shoulder, Marinette ripped her hand back, blushing slightly. “Sorry,” she apologised, unsure whether he was uncomfortable. “I've missed you in class, and I—” A pregnant pause grew between them, and she was mildly aware that she had to get to her classroom relatively soon. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number?”

Nathaniel's brow furrowed in confusion, and he gave no other reaction than that.

“The professor wasn't willing to give me it,” she blurted out, “not without your permission.”

He opened his mouth wordlessly again, and closed it just as fast. Redness began to pool upon his cheeks, much like Marinette's own at that moment.

“Sorry,” she apologised again, self-consciously rubbing the base of her neck. “I'll—well,” she trailed off, eyes darting along the corridor, “I'll see you in class tomorrow.”

And with that eloquent response, she crushed the growing feeling of rejection bubbling within her stomach and walked briskly towards class.

The judges were standing at the front of the classroom. Space had been made by pushing the desks and chairs away to the sides, stacking up if necessary, and a cheap carpet had been rolled out over the wood planks so there wouldn't be any damage done by high-heeled shoes than usual. A make-shift long table had been made by one side of the room with three chairs placed behind it, though the individuals that were to be seated in them were standing up with straight, stiff postures and expressions of indifference.

The first, a young woman who was almost into her thirties, introduced herself as Penny Rolling and announced she was an executive from the company, specifically from the magazine section. She was lightly tanned with brightly dyed violet hair that was cut just above the nape of her neck, with a side parting that was long enough to tuck behind her pierced ear. She grinned at the students, a bell-like laugh sounding from seeing their nervousness. Her attire was the most casual out of the three (jeans, a t-shirt and a dark blazer with the sleeves rolled up slightly), though that didn't put her at ease in her presence.

Marinette audibly gulped.

The only male judge was considerably older with crinkles besides his eyes when he smiled. Xavier Ramier had a kind expression that complimented his light skin tone and neatly combed dark blonde hair. He wore a dark gray shirt with a white shirt underneath, accompanied by a dark bow-tie that matched his eyes. He towered over the other judges—which he even remarked himself—and introduced himself as an employee from the same company as Penny, though he was from the television section.

The stern-faced last judge, however, wasn't from the same company. She had a medium build, thin glasses and considerably dark make-up (compared to Penny). She wore a suit much like Xavier, although she wore a snug sweater underneath instead of a button-up shirt. She frowned noticeably at the students, and ground out that she was a representative of Gabriel Agreste, his personal assistant, who would be judging to see whether he wanted to invest in any talents from the college.

It was Nathalie Sancoeur. The woman had been by Gabriel's side for years; Marinette had even read a few interviews about her before! For years before he'd employed this particular woman, Gabriel Agreste had worked his way through over a dozen assistants while claiming they were not up to the task. Nathalie had been his assistant for just over a decent after she'd graduated.

If Marinette's dream hadn't been to create her own clothing, her other choice would be to help someone great, much like Nathalie did.

There were a few mutters from the students around her which sounded considerably like nervous chatter. Their professor handed the situation over to the three judges, allowing them to take the floor while sitting in the background, out of the way.

Marinette gnawed on her lower lip as they were told the details of the competition. The students that were waiting to participate, or had previously showcased their work, were welcome to sit quietly on the side as long as there was no noise. Marinette secretly hoped that she wouldn't be the first person called, as there was a chance that a few would disappear into the next classroom to get ready for longer than needed as time went on. The names would be announced randomly, and the individual would be given ten minutes to prepare their project—meaning, dress accordingly and make sure they didn't mess up the presentation. Help would be given by the teacher if needed (if someone couldn't dress themselves, Marinette internally laughed).

Five girls had opted to create long ballroom gowns that were glamorous, elegant or transparent in places and quite sensual. Two others had created short dresses that were for red carpet events, if possible. Five males had all made suits in a range of colours and textures, and one had a bold pattern stitched intricately into the fabric.

Marinette's name was called second to last. She wiped her sweaty palms onto her jeans, wondering _why_ she'd chosen to wear tight trousers on this day, and whether she'd be able to undress and re-dress with such shaky hands. The beating of her heart was distracting, drowning out the mild chatter on the way to the spare classroom.

Her scarlet-highlighted dress was tucked away in the corner, covered in plastic to protect it. The shoes she'd packed in her backpack were safe and fine, resting beside her on the table so they wouldn't be placed out of sight. The windows of the classroom were covered and taped up to keep the black paper secure, meaning that no one could see in as she stripped out of her clothes.

“Breathe,” she reminded herself.

She hadn't requested help before she'd left the classroom. The professor knocked just as she was awkwardly attempting to fix the back of her dress herself, and Marinette breathed a sigh of relief as she allowed the professor in to help.

The dress felt slightly heavy, though the effect was worth it. She stood straight with the high-heeled shoes on, expression determined as she left her current hairstyle in.

Most of the dress was dark, only slightly transparent, with intricate lace covering the most of her body. The neckline was low, stopping just above the curve of her breasts. It was sleeveless, though there was a small trail of lace between her breasts and arms, acting as a small sleeve. The back was low as well, though she'd opted to keep the line just above her bra to avoid having to take it off to model. Soft material swayed against her ankles; the long skirt faded into a dark scarlet towards the ends, the lace scattered and breaking off from the pattern from the upper half by becoming small clumps that resembled dots.

The design was elegant, though the slightly transparent material would take confidence to pull off. Marinette slapped her cheeks sharply, willing herself to focus.

There was still a few minutes left to prepare herself. A text was sent to Alya, telling her about the current panicked state Marinette was experiencing, and to ask her to cook some comfort food that night.

Somehow she found herself loading up the browser on her phone, scrolling through her e-mail in search of someone in particular.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Princess,_

_If you were uncomfortable from my request to meet so soon, I sincerely apologise. Purr-haps we could start out slow._

_May I have your number, beautiful? This cat is all yours._

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

He'd even changed the way he signed the e-mail. Marinette's cheeks flushed the colour of the highlight of her dress, heart beating for another reason than nerves from the competition.

With reignited ambition, she checked in the mirror that her gown was correct.

She didn't want to be nobody forever.

-x-

The students stood around her, all precisely lined up in a row. The judges were murmuring lowly to each other, occasionally writing down notes and gesturing to their unspoken thoughts. Marinette gulped, palms beginning to sweat from nerves once again. Her pulse was thundering within her head, heart beating fast, much as it had down when she'd introduced herself to the representatives before her. Thankfully her display had been smooth—she announced her name in a confident voice and proceeded to walk back and forth with the correct posture and required presence to indicate her knees weren't weak from nerves.

If she could successfully present her clothes herself, then any model would be capable of wearing it, if her creation was ever selected.

The dark-haired female gnawed on her lip, internally willing the nauseous feeling to disappear that had suddenly sprouted.

They were blunt, honest, and didn't hold back from picking out the flaws of their designs. As they went along the line, each student was asked what their inspiration was, and whether they had a particular image in mind when they'd started to design. Marinette stood ramrod straight as the first runner-up was announced. A male that had produced a velvet suit in an interesting shade of purple with an intricate lace trim around the cuffs came third—his stitching was mediocre along the neckline, apparently.

The female next to her, who was notorious for being boisterous and constantly bragging that her designs were destined to be the next big thing, came second. Her dress was short and intricate with light transparent wrappings of materials weaved into cute patterns upon the bodice, including lace upon the back to fasten the dress to size. Although the design could have been improved by being converted to a full-length gown, the sheer detail was respected.

When they came to the male stood ram-rod straight beside her, they didn't hold back. His design had seen already, and there wasn't any originality to it. Marinette bit her lip harder—he was a nice fellow who kept to himself, though he had helped her a few times the previous year—and grasped his clenched hand in a comforting manner. She rubbed her thumb upon his warm flesh soothingly, hoping he wouldn't be too offended by their criticism.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Nathalie started in a neutral tone. The judges flicked through their notes to the correct page as she gulped audibly.

“Ma'am,” Marinette replied respectfully, straightening her shoulders.

Nathalie kept her gaze—albeit hard to maintain eye contact as the sunlight hit her spectacles to illuminate the lenses—as a pregnant pause grew in the silent classroom. Marinette could have sworn her frantic pulse was loud enough for everyone to hear.

The male that she had previously been comforting gave her hand a supportive squeeze.

“A bold design, one of the most creative so far,” Penny began, twirling a pen between her thumb and forefinger as she sat back into her chair. “A designer has to be confident in their works. Would you say you are, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Her mind flashed to Alya mentioning some of her fans were interested in the lingerie she'd made. “Yes, ma'am, I am.”

Xavier hummed lowly. “And what inspired you to create this gown?”

Marinette internally screamed at herself not to blush. She would _not_ say that she was distracting herself from one of Nino's replies by looking at animals pictures. “Ladybugs,” she blurted before correcting herself. “Ladybugs, sir.”

Their eyes simultaneously travelled down to view the delicate ends of her dress that had scattered lace dots upon the scarlet stained material. The judges murmured amongst themselves for a while longer, jotting upon their papers once again, while Marinette's pulse seemed to be impossibly louder. Her fingernails were digging painfully into her skin—neighbour no longer holding her anxious hand—but her eyes were straight forward to try and judge their reactions.

“Congratulations, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Xavier congratulated her, motioning for her to come closer. She walked numbly towards the desks, tongue-tied from the implications. “You will have the opportunity to work along a selection of students from other universities within our company.”

He shook her shaking hand while she still stared with a befuddled expression.

“You will work equally within our two sections of the company,” Penny explained, grasping the girl's shoulder with a smile. “Details will be mailed to you over the break—we'll be seeing you early next year.”

She nodded, speechless.

-x-

“I won.”

Alya hummed. “I know.”

“I won.”

The red-head raised a spoon in the air, making noises much like mothers made to their infant children, and pushed it towards Marinette's lips. “So you've said.”

“I won.”

“ _Eat_!” Alya scolded, lightly flicking her forehead. “You've been in a trance since you left—did you even realise you stood on Rose's poster of Nino?”

Marinette blinked. “Why would Nino's poster be on the floor?”

Alya's laugh was rich and loud. “You knocked it off the hallway wall and then trampled all over it! Shoes on and all, girl!”

“No,” Marinette groaned, pressing her face against the arm of their lumpy couch. “I told her having a poster at the entrance was a bad idea!”

“She wanted to see him when she came home,” Alya said with a laugh. “I'm sure she'll be fine when you explain the circumstances.”

A cold tub of ice cream was shoved into her hands, the cold temperature causing her to flinch in surprise. Alya forcefully shoved the spoon into her mouth once again, though this time she accepted with a stifled laugh. She ate methodically, positioning the tub so it was between the two of them for Alya to dip her spoon in as well. “What are we doing tonight?” she mumbled, mouth full of the dairy treat.

Alya shrugged. “I've finished all my projects, and I think Rose is submitting her last today, too, so she should come back soon.”

“Only four days left before break.”

“Four days until we're smashed at Aurore's, you mean.” The red-head jabbed her playfully in the waist. “So has anything been going on lately? Anything juicy you've kept from Rose?”

Marinette spluttered, unfortunately causing her to choke on the ice cream. She gasped for breath, frantically coughing while Alya comfortingly patted her back sympathy with a sheepish grin. “Fuck you,” Marinette rasped, chuckling at her friend's expression. “You and Rose get the same information.”

“Oh?” Alya questioned, pretending to inspect her nails with a haughty expression. “Then do tell me about this guy you're e-mailing.”

Her heart jumped within her chest. “She doesn't know anything! I mentioned it _once_!”

“Just once is more than you've told me!” the red-head replied, shooting her a forced glare. “Is he the real reason you always reject dates, or is it only a recent thing?”

“I'm not telling you.”

Alya smirked mischievously. “If you tell me everything, I'll promise not to update my blog with any of your pictures—meaning I won't take any new ones or upload any old ones.”

“I'm going home to my parents next week,” she reminded her bespectacled friend.

“I'm your next door neighbour!” Alya cackled. “Think of the pictures I can take through your windows, especially since you don't own very good blinds!”

She paled at the thought. “Fine, but I want to choose when the free week is.” The idea of time off from their torment was too tempting, especially if she could choose the week during one of her particularly stressful times when a project was due. At Alya's nod, she grinned at her friend. “I'll tell you as much as Rose knows, then, as I'm sure she probably mocked you saying she knew more then didn't fill you in on anything.”

“Of course.” Alya scowled.

“A couple of weeks ago I was embarrassed about an e-mail I'd sent to this guy, who I'd only been talking to for a few days, so I complained into the couch lumps for a bit. That's all.” Alya glared at her, arms crossed stubbornly as she waited for her to continue. The silence between them was deafening as it stretched on, both females too stubborn to give up and cave to the others demands. After counting to one hundred in her head, Marinette threw her hands up in exasperation. “Fine! I just flirted a bit back to him, that's all. We're fine and still talking now.”

“And who is he?” she prompted.

Marinette glanced away, self-consciously touching the nape of her neck. “Someone you don't know?” she tried. Alya swiftly jabbed her in the ribs in disapproval. “I'd really rather not say, but he's quite sweet when he wants to be.”

Even if Alya denied being his fan, if she knew her friend messaging Nino almost daily, she was surely going to screech in surprise. There was no easy way to admit she was talking to a celebrity actively, let alone that he was endlessly flirty and a sweet talker.

“Please give me one reason not to force this out of you.”

Pink blossomed upon her cheeks. “It's… He's someone I knew when we were little. We've only just exchanged numbers; or, well, I need to reply and give him mine…”

“Look at you!” Alya cooed, grinning enthusiastically. “You're all embarrassed and shy, and it's actually about a _boy_.”

“Man,” Marinette corrected with a mumble.

“Wait,” the red-head exclaimed, eyes shining brightly. “If he's from when we were just babes, does that mean you remember him? You know, before the accident?”

Drat. “Eh—I… I'm not sure?”

“What do you mean you're _not sure_?” Alya scolded, eyes narrowed in suspicious. “Either you remember this _man_ from when his balls hadn't dropped, or I do know him.”

“I don't know, Alya!” she blurted, attempting to stick to the story. If she told the truth, it would just get back to Rose who would, no doubt, become upset that she hadn't been told. Nino surely wasn't going to talk to her constantly for years, so there was no harm in telling a white lie, was there? She wanted to keep him to herself for a while longer. “He just wanted to reconnect out of the blue through e-mail, so I've just been going along with it.”

She was going to Hell.

-x-

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Mille-feuille_

_Chat,_

_I wasn't sure if I had time to meet—my friends, who I'm sure you saw by me, took me along last minute. Despite how foolish I feel for telling you this, I was sure you wouldn't recognise me, even with the hairstyle._

_Calm down, Chat. I'll give you my number on the condition that you won't call at awful times due to your travelling._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

She included her number within the e-mail, mulling over her feeling on the subject. He was sure to be busy most of the time, though the messages were sure to be faster than e-mails.

Alya had retaliated from the lack of information quickly. There was already a photo of Marinette brushing her hair dressed in pyjamas; or, rather, the shirt of her pyjamas as the bottoms had been discarded before she'd been distracted by the tendrils of hair that refused to behave. Just a few hours after that another image joined the ranks of the most viewed. It was a shot of Marinette trying on her dress for the competition, except the back wasn't buttoned so the material fully showed her back, the lack of brassiere and just a hint of her underwear.

She immediately clicked the report button. Although the dress was still beautiful, the image was sneaky—she hadn't even heard her door open for the red-head to sneak in and snap the picture!

“This is getting out of hand,” Marinette muttered, voice muffled by her desk. The stained wood was cool against her heated face, though it didn't help much for her embarrassment. The _Ladyblog_ only had a few viewers at first—who were most likely perverts—but the views were rapidly climbing and reaching levels that just made her sweat from nerves.

A picture was taped on the outside of her door. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the caption that had been added to it, ' _You have two days until this is posted online._ '

The picture itself wasn't one of the worst that the duo had posted. Heck, it would've been one of the more tame ones if it didn't clearly show her face—there she was with her pale skin, ebony hair and cerulean eyes which were tearful from laughing in the image that was captured. Marinette scowled, crumpling the threatening piece of paper into her hand, and stomped towards the culprit's room.

“Alya!” she called, ignoring the polite knock she usually gave her friend in warning.

The red-head blinked in confusion, bright red earphones perched upon her head, and her befuddled expression caused her lollipop to fall from her red lips. “Marinette!” she whined, throwing the sweet into her plastic bin. “That was my last one, too.”

“Alya,” she repeated with narrowed eyes. With expert aim that was surely blessed to her that moment by powers much greater than she knew, the wadded piece of paper hit her friend square in the forehead. Alya accepted the attack lethargically, groaning from the collision. “You've already posted two horrendous pictures and now you're _threatening_ me?”

“I wasn't actually going to do it, Mari!” Alya retorted, grumpily rubbing where the paper had hit her. “It was just to scare you to tell me. And you're kind of standing here now, so I suppose it worked.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out childishly. “I'm here to tell you you're being a bitch.”

“Old news.” The red-head laughed fondly, rolling her eyes at the insult. “You've called me worse for much less. So, why are you really here? You could have just text me and told me to fuck off.”

“Maybe I'll text that later.” She sniffed indignantly. “I actually wanted to talk about your blog for bit.”

A noise of disbelief was heard. “You mean you've reported it more times than you can count and nothing has happened.”

Marinette waved her hand dismissively. “I report it daily—but no, not that. Were you serious about people asking where I purchased some of my clothes?”

“I wouldn't lie about that,” Alya confirmed. “What about it?”

She rubbed her elbow self-consciously. The idea of owning a small shop on the internet could be a good business starter, especially if she was associated with a certain blog that had more than enough views, but the cons were also scaling up. She didn't want her identity to be known as the one in the pictures, but her name out there on her designs was the only option. Even a small signature could be disastrous if someone was able to connect the dots.

“Would you be up for having a shop section on the site?” she blurted out quickly, gnawing on her lower lip between breaths. “I _really_ don't want people to know it's me in the pictures, but it would be good for business…”

“No problem,” Alya said, winking when they made contact. “I've already talked to Rose about this, actually. We were going to try and convince you next year, when everything's calmed down from your win and all, but this is fine. What were you thinking?”

They brainstormed into the cold evening. Marinette mentioned which articles of clothing were the quickest and most cost effective to make, while Alya pointed out which in particular were popular and the most sought after. Rose arrived with fast-food halfway through, in celebration of Marinette's win, and they ate happily while discussing their ideas. Rose, being the silliest of the trio, tried to influence puns into the shop descriptions more often than not.

Marinette fell back onto her bed just before midnight, exhausted with a satisfied smile upon her face. Her cell phone had been discarded for the evening, left in her room by accident, so when she went to set her alarm for the morning she was surprised to see a message from an unknown number.

' _Unknown:  
_ _Princess, how has your day been? Mine's been claw-ful from not talking to you.'_

“Cat pun, check,” Marinette said with a laugh, “princess, check.”

She'd forgotten in the excitement that she'd shared her number. His message was from three hours ago, though she had no idea which time zone he would be in at that moment.

' _Marinette:  
There's my Chat. Heaven forbid that you ever have a bad day! Mine's been, as you would say, purr-fect.'_

A bubble of laughter escaped. She tried to lower the noise by laughing into her pillow, a wide smile upon her lips.

She decided not to regret the flirting. She was on her way to becoming somebody, and embracing his compliments and insatiable thirst for intimate communication was one of the first steps. There was nothing to fear—he was simply out of reach at that moment.

-x-

The tinkling of bells stirred her awake. She felt around for her cell phone, bleary eyes widening in disbelief when she saw the time. Nino had messaged her at four o'clock in the morning.

' _Prince Chat:  
What has made you so happy? Am I going to have competition?_'

If he was still in Paris, Marinette sincerely didn't wish to attend events so far into the evening like he did.

' _Marinette:  
It's four in the morning, Chat!_'

She half-heartedly shoved her cell phone under her pillow to muffle the noise. However, his reply was quick enough that she didn't have the adequate amount of time to fall asleep again. She frowned at her phone.

' _Prince Chat:  
I apologise, princess. I didn't consider the time differences. I'll try and make it up to you later._'

“You better,” she mumbled.

The alarm that blared in the early morning scared her awake. Marinette clutched at her pounding heart, breathing a sigh of relief when she remembered just why she had so much trouble sleeping the previous evening. With a small smile she re-read the last message Nino sent, though the thought of why exactly he was contacting her so late at night still plagued her. Wondering how he'd make it up to her, however, was an amusing thought. What could he do from so far away that he hadn't already? Compliment her some more—make her more confused about their relationship?

“Silly,” she murmured fondly.

Chat was a wonderful codename that had come to be accidentally. Calling him an alley cat, even though her younger self used to believe he had cat-like qualities, was supposed to be an insult rather than a term of endearment. The fact that he didn't mind—in fact, he seemed to like it more than Boy—didn't bother her at all.

She could refer to him as Chat if Rose ever asked about him, though it was very unlikely that Alya would accept the name without narrowed eyes and lingering suspicions. Just to be safe, she saved his number in her cell phone as ' _Prince Chat_ '.

If she was his princess, then it was only fair that he was a prince—even if he was particularly catty.

The answer to how he was going to cheer her up came as she was walking through the hallways of university towards her next lecture. The familiar tinkling of bells distracted her from her conversation with Rose. She bid the blonde farewell with a quick hug, illuminating the screen as she walked through the doorway to the classroom. It brought a smile to her lips.

She half-heartedly waved in greeting to her classmates.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Night, princess. I'll be thinking of you._ '

But the message wasn't why she was smiling widely. An image was attached—a smaller than average feline with shiny ebony hair and bright green eyes. His whiskers were black, much like his nose, so the only colour showing was the bright emerald tones of his eyes. Marinette bit her lip, still smiling widely, and wondered how old the picture was. Plagg, she concluded, didn't look as old as she expected him to. The feline was upon a scarlet blanket, and she could see a small detail holding onto his tail. Perhaps it was Nino's hand, but he wasn't trying to capture it.

Rose had been asking about Plagg since she saw the paw before, but this felt too personal. It wasn't meant for everyone to see, she hoped. It was okay to be slightly selfish, was it not?

Her expression turned befuddled when she re-read his message.

' _Marinette:  
Night? Where are you? It's only just midday for me._'

His reply came by the time she'd taken her seat where she was patiently waiting for Nathaniel to appear, hoping that she wouldn't splutter and embarrass herself again.

' _Prince Chat:  
Too far right now. I was too happy that I'd be able to talk to you like this, so I forgot about the time differences._'

That answered a lot of questions.

' _Marinette:  
Sleep, silly. Take some tips from Plagg in the morning. He's really cute._'

Students were still trailing in through the doors, but there was no sign of Nathaniel.

' _Prince Chat:  
D_ _oes that mean I have to lick myself for half an hour to look that good?_ '

Laughter spilled out from her lips causing a few strange looks in her direction.

' _Marinette:  
R_ _est, you fool. We'll discuss your licking habits in the morning._ '

Nathaniel gently climbed into his seat, bright eyes flickering shyly towards her. There was only a few seconds to spare until the professor walked in, but he'd managed to make it on time, much to her surprise. The red-head had already withdrawn a small notepad and a sketchbook, each for different purposes in the classroom. While the professor began to rattle on, Marinette clasped her hands self-consciously.

He was a shy, sweet boy that never uttered a word, but he'd actively sought her out before (before Chloé scared him away, at least). The worst he could do in return was stare blankly, much like he had before—she'd experienced it, it wouldn't be as bad the second time around.

“Nathaniel,” Marinette said quietly, shy cerulean eyes focused on his ever-moving hand that was sketching neatly with his sketchbook angled towards him to obscure the view. “Sorry if I was a bit forward before.”

His hand stilled, eyes still trained on the paper.

She chastised herself mentally. “Are you going home for Christmas?” The expression on his face was a fix between confusion and a small smile. He glanced up, looking her in the eyes, and raised his eyebrows in question. As she replied, she rubbed her neck self-consciously. “I guess we haven't really, well, spoken…” The silence between them became awkward, the constant chattering of their professor filling in the blanks with information. “I mean, this year and last it's been just me nattering on, and you returning a few of my possessions if I forgot or dropped them. I was wondering if you want to change that?”

After what seemed like a painfully long time, the scarlet-haired male nodded slowly before turning his attention back to his drawing. Well, at least it wasn't a rejection, therefore it wasn't a loss. Marinette smiled softly at his reaction; it was just predictable of him.

Her phone vibrated within her jeans' pocket, thankfully silent so the tinkling of bells didn't interrupt the lesson.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Purr-haps you should share your grooming tips with me, princess. I think you do have a cat_.'

With a sly glance to the shy red-head beside her, Marinette wondered if he would qualify was one. Sweet, silent, and adorable to look at—didn't that fit the criteria? She bit her lip to stifle the giggle escaping, trying not to attract attention to her amusement.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I'm in class, Chat. Sleep!_ '

Thankfully, he didn't reply after that. The time difference between them wasn't something she could conjure up from the top of her head, though she assumed it was vastly different from hers. Their messages were surely going to be at odd times until he travelled again. Perhaps e-mailing would be better?

When the professor began to talk about a topic that had been previously touched upon, Marinette fished her cell phone out once again.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_Subject: Macarons_

_Chat,_

_Maybe you'll sleep soundly if we exchange message this way while our time differences are vast. I believe we were talking about your licking habits._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

The contents of the message could have been taken wrongly, which was why she glanced out of the corner of her eye at Nathaniel, to make sure he didn't get the wrong idea. He was simply an innocent male, of average build, who oozed purity and shyness with every step.

Perhaps in the future he'd write notes to her, clearly that would be the first step to befriending him slowly.

When the lecture ended, Marinette neatly placed her sporadic notes away without much thought. A soft tap on her shoulder caught her attention—Nathaniel was shyly looking at her through his slight-too-long scarlet bangs with an uncertain expression. He passed the paper he had been working on through the lecture into her open hands, and with a small nod in farewell he was gone.

Heat rose to her cheeks instantly. The drawing he'd handed to her was semi-realistic—the hair was very detailed, though the picture in general was astounding—and it was most definitely of her. It was styled to be a panel of a comic, though it was a stand-alone of a female proudly showing her cell phone's screen in clear view with a number and name on display. It was the oddest, and definitely most creative, way she'd ever been given someone's number before. Had he been thinking of doing this for long? The drawing had been started, and finished, during that lecture, but he'd started it long before she'd asked if he'd like to become friendlier with her.

“Really cute,” Marinette murmured, wondering if this portrayal was how he really saw her—with the large doe-like eyes and glossy hair, twin-tails and all. She carefully placed the drawing between the pages of her notes, making sure it wouldn't become creased or ruined. The number wasn't input into her cell phone until later that evening.

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Macarons_

_Princess,_

_Glad to see you still remember my favourite. You seem very interested in my licking, though. Do you have something to tell me, my lady?_

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

“Marinette!” Rose scolded, bumping her hip into the dark-haired female's to catch her attention. “Pay attention—stop looking at your phone.” Despite the throbbing of her hip from the blonde's thick belt, Marinette tried to stifle her laughter with a soft nod. “You're not supposed to laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry.” She restrained her laughter at the blonde's pronounced pout. “I kind of tuned you out and got distracted.”

Rose narrowed her cerulean eyes in suspicion. “And what could possibly be more important than my problems?”

She snorted softly. “Oh, nothing.”

“This is _very_ important, you know!” Rose defended, arms crossed stubbornly beneath her breasts. “I'm freaking out here, and you could at least comfort me in my hour of need.”

“You're being silly,” Marinette scolded sweetly, tapping her friend's nose. “So what if you heard Chloé boasting about her celebrity connections? We've all seen her go to premieres and such, it's nothing new.” Although Rose's information could've been her prattling on and exaggerating their encounter, she'd spouted the _important_ information so far—which was Chloé claiming she'd be leaving Aurore's party early because she'd been invited to a high-class party, the likes of which half the students Aurore had invited wouldn't be allowed to step foot in. “She's not worth getting worked up over.”

The sly comments weren't the expected answer, however. “But Nino _is_ , Marinette!”

She blinked. “Nino? I thought we were talking about Chloé.” Surely she didn't zone out for that long while she read said male's e-mail, did she?

“I will hit _you_ ,” Rose threatened. “Chloé's going to a party with _Nino_. Goodness, you really weren't listening to me. He's going to be with that— _that_ selfish girl, and he still doesn't even know I exist!”

Marinette gulped, unsure how to comfort the blonde's self-pitying attitude. It hadn't appeared for a few months to date, though it was always just as confusing to deal with when it showed abruptly. Pulling the golden-haired female closer, Marinette hugged her tightly, humming a soft tune under her breath in a comforting manner. When all else failed, simply letting her calm down was the best option.

Seconds turned into minutes, and the only sounds mingling together were Rose's uneven breaths and Marinette's steady hum.

“Chloé's not so bad, Rose,” Marinette murmured softly, pushing the short bangs away from her friend's forehead. “She's rude, yes, but her main problem is just not thinking before she talks. It's not her fault she's been friends with Adrien since she was little.”

The response to her soft-spoken comment was a snort of disbelief. “You can't be in her presence for more than ten minutes.”

“What can I say? She knows how to press my buttons—imagine how peaceful it would be if she caught a cold and lost her voice.”

“Nice joke, but it's never going to happen. I've never seen her sniffle and I share _two_ classes with her,” Rose commented snidely. “How'd you know that about her and Adrien?”

A soft yelp escaped her as Marinette flicked the blonde's nose fondly. “Did you forget she invited me to her last party? A _nice_ gesture from her so she surely has a heart, no matter how small it is.”

“Oh.” Rose sat up straight with excitement clear on her expression. “ _Oh_! That means you've met some of the fancy friends she always bloody mentions in class—please tell me they liked you!” The pause was almost non-existent and too short for Marinette to respond within. “What am I even saying? They loved you, of course, so why haven't you mentioned anyone since?”

“Well, you never really asked,” she replied bluntly. “I was pretty preoccupied, too, so I haven't had a chance to contact anyone I shared details with.”

A smirk grew across Rose's lips. She bumped into Marinette's shoulder playfully, reaching to poke her cheek repeatedly. “Details, details. You owe me some! Who was there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not many. I only really spoke to two people,” at Rose's enquiring look and raised eyebrows she added, “two _guys_.”

“Attractive?”

Of course. “Not my type.”

“What is your type, Marinette?” Rose murmured, trailing her finger along Marinette's jawline softly. “Alya was complaining that you've refused to let her set you up on dates again, and apparently this time you had a good reason.”

She averted her eyes. Oh, goodness, it was turning into _that_ conversation again. “I told her about the guy I've been e-mailing, you know, the one you helped me out with a while ago.”

“A while ago?” Rose squawked. “That was ages ago! And if you're still messaging him then it has surely progressed past your accidental flirting!”

“Not that it's any of your business,” she pointed out with narrowed eyes, “but we're just friends, really. Flirty friends.”

Rose groaned loudly, waving her arms in exasperation. “What a load of crap!”

“I don't need you to judge me.” She sniffed. “Anyway, I only managed to talk to two people at Chloé's, but I can't really remember their names off the top of my head.” Mockingly, she tapped her chin in thought. “One's a personal trainer, while the other designed some sort of a programme for cell phones…”

“Max Kanté?” Rose blurted, grabbing a hold of her friend's shoulder. “The last one you mentioned, did he have tall hair? Like, _tall_ up to here.” She gestured a few inches above her scalp. When Marinette nodded slowly, she let out a shout of excitement. “Yes, Marinette! That's one of Nino's closest friends—get _in_ there!”

She blinked. “I'd rather not. And should I even ask why you know this?”

The blonde waved her hand dismissively. “Common knowledge, girl, and if you paid attention in the past few years,” she glared while saying this, “you would have realised this, too. Please tell me you got his number.”

“Well, yes, that's what I said before, Rose.” Before the blonde could act, Marinette protectively clutched her phone, holding it to her chest awkwardly. “No, I am _not_ giving you his number. I'll message him in the future, maybe, but I'm really not having you fumbling through my phone for your crush.” Because it was possible she'd find messages from said crush without realising it.

“Spoil sport,” she replied sourly.

“Someone has to keep you in line.”

Rose had volunteered bravely to cook dinner that evening as Alya had claimed she'd be busy for the whole evening, which was why the apartment was rather lonely with just the two of them chattering, and despite Marinette's protests the blonde was insisting at least making one meal for the remainder of the year. So when Rose was busy grumbling about ingredients and which pan to use, Marinette used the free time to reply to Nino.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Macarons_

_Chat,_

_Whatever helps you sleep at night, though I imagine all that's needed is a bit of ego stroking._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

Dinner turned out to be over-cooked and it was an awfully recipe butchered, but she ate it with a small smile as Rose prattled on.

_PREVIEW: Her knees felt wobbly and there was a thick lump in her throat, and all she could say to her reflection in the mirror was, “Coward.”_

 

 


	4. 04

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear up any confusion, the main pairing is definitely Adrien & Marinette - there will just be a few side pairings for me to have fun with.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

The strange time difference between her and Nino meant that when she woke up grumpily after Alya had ran away cackling with a new picture, there was an e-mail waiting to brighten her sour mood.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Macarons_

_Princess,_

_I may have stroked something, but I've never heard anyone refer to it as my ego before._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

“…What?”

Blood rushed to her face, skin becoming stained a deep scarlet, as she re-read the message to make sure she understood the implications completely. Of course they'd shared a few flirtatious comments with each other but this—this was on a whole new level! She rubbed her cheeks roughly, willing them to cool down from the heat of embarrassment, trying hard to ignore the tell-tale signs of her pulse stirring down below.

“Oh, no,” she murmured softly.

Just friends, indeed. There was no denying the attraction she felt to him—to his _words_ , she corrected herself. They hadn't conversed in person for over a decade since the last time, when they'd made eye contact for a mere second, hadn't counted. She'd felt no inkling of desire that was anything other than longing for friendship and explanations back when she'd saw him, though she suspected it would've resulted in her flushing instantly if they met after this.

It took her almost half an hour to compose a reply that didn't portray her shock or discomfort at the sudden turn in their relationship, but she still wanted to delete the contents after it had sent, as always.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Macarons_

_Chat,_

_Perhaps yours hasn't been called your ego before for a shocking reason. I'll refer to you as kitty from now on, little one._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

“Confidence,” she murmured, cheeks still stained scarlet.

He was sweet, kind, and _still_ remembered her after all the years apart—the years of him being a damn celebrity. If that wasn't a friendship that was valued, she wasn't quite sure what would qualify.

A sharp rapt on the bedroom door made her jump clumsily. Marinette hastily closed her e-mail tab, which proved to be futile since the other tabs were displaying their previous e-mails for future reference. Alya made a noise of interest as she stalked forward to investigate, so the dark-haired female did the first thing that came to mind.

She slammed the laptop lid down harshly, inwardly grimacing at the possible damage dealt.

“What the fuck?” Alya chortled, incredulous. “That wasn't porn, was it?”

“No!” Marinette choked, cheeks colouring once again. “It's nothing important.”

The red-head looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Mari. We'll get back to your secret naked pictures in a minute; I've got something really important to tell you!” At Marinette's furrowed eyebrows she continued on while perching herself upon the messy bed. “Well, more like show you…”

Marinette huffed at her evasive words. “Spit it out, woman.”

“Let's just ignore your laptop for a bit.” Alya winked with a sly grin before swapping her attention to her cell phone. A soft tune was hummed by her to fill the silence, not including the tapping of her finger upon the screen, while Marinette watched her suspiciously. “Here, look at this!” The cell phone was happily shoved into Marinette's befuddled hands—almost dropping it from the sudden contact—and although it took a few seconds for her brain to comprehend what she was seeing, her first reaction was to groan in embarrassment.

A shop section had finally been added to the _Ladyblog_ after all the planning they had done previously. Alya had created a banner from previous pictures of Marinette, specifically the ones where she was wearing her own designs. The banner image changed every few seconds as a slide show, though the words, and logo of a ladybug within the 'o' of blog, were still the same.

“I don't know if I want to laugh or cry,” she confessed softly, admiring the illuminated screen. “Are the prices still what we agreed on?”

“Of course.” Alya grinned widely, pocketing her cell phone. “Just use your pretty little fingers in your free time to make some lingerie and we're golden.”

Marinette blinked. “I thought it was cute blouses and pyjamas first.”

“Well…” the red-head trailed off, lips twisting into a sly smirk. She placed on leg upon the other, deliberately drawing the action out and stalling. “That was before word got out that Lady wears her own lingerie. When a little bird went around spreading such rumours, I received quite a few offers from some stores. If it's true, they'd actually consider selling a few of your designs for special occasions.”

It was too good to be true. “What's the catch?”

“Either we need to have someone pretend to be you, or you'll have to introduce yourself in person to the higher-ups.”

She gulped. “Then they'd know I'm in all of your dumb pictures.”

“That's kind of the point, _Lady_ ,” Alya emphasised with raised eyebrows. “I doubt you would've gotten this offer so soon if the blog didn't exist. I'm doing you a favour here, clearly.”

Marinette sighed openly, rubbing her cheek in exasperation. When she'd imagined a small online boutique a few designs that she sincerely enjoyed making and reproducing, she'd never imagined it turning into anything more. It was supposed to be practice while she had a year and a half before she graduated university, not a branch that would be a part of a large tree.

“I don't know if that's a good idea,” she confessed, self-consciously touching her clothed elbow. “I have the internship after we're back here and I really don't know how hard that will be—I mean… I don't even know which department will want me.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “Whichever doesn't is controlled by a fucking idiot.”

“Silly,” she said fondly with a soft smile.

The red-head one upped her gesture with a wink and a large grin, sliding along the mattress to sit closer to her. “Don't worry about it, then, Mari. We'll sell whatever you'd like, even if it ends up being a kitty sweater.”

Unfortunately, all she could think of was an awful sweater with Nino's face, due to the recent name she'd suggested. “Oh, gosh,” she muttered, mortified under her breath. “I'm such an idiot.”

A flick to her forehead reminded her she wasn't alone. Alya looked at her with silent curiosity, eyes darting between her and the closed laptop. “So, what were you looking at? That's the only reason I can think of you being an idiot.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” she grumbled. “Nothing new, Alya, it's nothing to worry about.”

The tanned female simply hummed, not believing her words for a moment. “Spit it out, Mari.”

She crossed her arms stubbornly. “I will _not_.”

“The offer before still stands,” Alya reminded her, a smirk forming upon her lips. “Can you imagine all the juicy pictures I could get soon? Tom loves me, so he'd just let me waltz right into your bedroom, and bathroom, whenever I want.”

“My father would not!”

The refusal was half-hearted. Tom Dupain, her hulk of a father with lightly flushed skin and bright emerald eyes, had a personality that was intoxicatingly sincere and oozed friendliness. He openly embraced anyone who walked through the doors of their home, be it through the shop entrance or to their actual living area. He adored Rose as soon as she'd babbled with her tiny mouth, and Alya when she'd complimented their home the day she moved in. For all her life, Marinette had never heard her father talk badly of anyone—not even when she tiptoed through their hallways at night, sometimes listening to her parents quiet chatter.

“Oh, Uncle Tom!” Alya sighed dramatically. “Marinette managed to pack my clothes instead of hers, so I really need to see her!”

“It was one time!” she defended, flailing her hands in exaggeration. “Let it go!”

Maybe it was two times. The previous year of university, when she'd been wholly unprepared for the onslaught of projects and work to do, she'd packed at the last minute (much like her two flat-mates had, too). Somehow their clothes had ended up in each other's suitcase, and it had taken them two days to figure out once they were each at home, simply because they'd been too lazy to unpack their luggage immediately. It had happened a few more times, but only a few articles of clothing unlike the first. Marinette's suitcase was already half packed and ready for their journey back, though this time she'd set aside the clothes she wanted to wear for the remaining few days and Aurore's party.

“You'll really promise not to take any more Lady pictures until we're back here?” she asked with narrow eyes.

Alya clucked her tongue in disagreement. “It's a free week, not a free holiday, Marinette,” she corrected with a laugh. “I need at least a few for the blog, but they won't be as bad as when we're here.”

“You're terrible.”

“Aren't I just?” Alya taunted with a mocking wink sent in her direction, Marinette scowled. “Now you have some information to spill, Lady.”

Nino had once called her something similar. It was quite endearing, while Alya was mercilessly teasing her with her version. His was more preferable, definitely.

“You're not going to believe the old friend line, are you?” she questioned sourly. The only response was Alya raising her eyebrows slowly, mockingly, at her. “Fine. _Fine_! It's—”

The clattering of their front door opening made them jump in surprise, followed by loud footsteps and a high-pitched noise that sounded oddly akin to a squeal, but extended for much too long. Rose, clad in an overly large violet peacoat with golden buttons, was visibly vibrating in excitement. Her lips that were stained scarlet with lipstick were stretched out far too wide, the smile looking slightly fanatic. She continued to make the high-pitched noise as she gazed at the two of them on the bed, rocking upon her heels.

Marinette mirrored Alya's look of concern. “What's up, Rose?” she tried to ask casually.

All they got in return was a squeal before the blonde charged at them, diving head first and knocking Alya back onto the mattress with a tight hug. She buried her face in the red-head's boisterous curls—seeking comfort in their volume, clearly. Alya shot a panicked look at Marinette who responded with a non-committal noise. After a few seconds passed, she began to hear sniffles coming from the overactive girl.

“Rose?” she murmured, touching her shoulder in concern.

“I—I can't believe it!” the blonde suddenly announced, voice cracking at the end from an unidentifiable emotion. She crooned into Alya's neck, rubbing her cheek into her hair. “I just got off the phone with Juleka.”

Alya ran her fingers through the golden strands. “How is she?”

Juleka Couffaine was one of their oldest friends, back from their elementary days, until they were separated the previous year after she'd selected to study abroad instead of the same university as the three of them. Rose, who considered Juleka her closest friend—even more so than Marinette—had been miffed by the sudden decision and stubbornly ignored Juleka until the day before she was leaving. They'd shared a loud good-bye with tears of sadness and excitement, promising to exchange emails and phone calls whenever it was possible with their distance. She hadn't made it back to Paris for Christmas last year, however.

“She hasn't remarried, has she?” Marinette joked.

A shared joke between the close group of friends they had prior to university was that Rose and Juleka were the perfect match; or, rather, they were unintentionally married. Juleka had travelled to a tropical continent for a holiday one summer, so when she came back much taller and golden tanned with short black cropped hair, Rose had mistaken her for a new student—a male one, too—when the new school year started.

“No, no, she—” Rose interrupted herself, choking on air momentarily. “She's coming here! _Here_!”

“No busy schedule then?” the ebony-haired female questioned, twirling absent-mindedly in her chair. “It'll be nice to see her again. Maybe we could organise a party at some point.”

“Marinette!” The shriek was accompanied by a sharp slap to her knee. “Here—this university!”

Alya pulled her back, still fingering the blonde strands. “She's transferring? Are you sure you didn't misunderstand?”

“I'm sure of it.” She nodded enthusiastically. “I even checked to make sure I understood, three times, by the way.”

“I thought she liked it in Italy,” Marinette pondered aloud. “Though, I guess it's hard being apart from your one true love.” With practised ease she dodged the pillow that was thrown, laughing at the blonde's embarrassed expression. “Is she coming for her final year?”

Rose nodded.

“That's still a long way away, love,” Alya commented, expression neutral from the news. Although she was friends with Juleka, they never managed to become too close over the years. When she'd first moved to Paris, the dark-haired female portrayed the aura that she was hard to approach, so Alya had felt strangely awkward trying to initiate conversations with her for quite a while. Even with the coaxing of her two friends—especially Marinette, who she frequently visited after school—the two of them mostly exchanged strange smiles rather than words. “Maybe we'll see her for Christmas, at least.”

The blonde beamed at the both of them. “Yeah, she's going to stay with me towards the end! I'm so excited—my parents are going to be so annoyed by us staying up talking all night.”

Marinette threw the pillow back at her. “What are you, twelve?”

“Thirteen!”

“Of course she manages to attract pedophiles,” Alya murmured under her breath.

The comment was loud enough to hear, though. Rose turned on her, eyes blazing with needed vengeance for badmouthing her best friend, and leapt onto the red-head. They tumbled back onto the mattress, loud laugh erupting from their chests as they began to struggle for power of the situation. Marinette covered her mouth with her hands to try and hold in her amusement.

They snapped out of their play fight to stare at her suspiciously when her cell phone began to vibrate, bells filling the sudden chilling quiet in the room.

She snatched her cell phone before the other two could grab a hold of it. “No!”

“ _Damn_ ,” they cursed in unison, blinking in surprise and laughing when they realised they had the same plan.

Marinette tried to keep glaring at the two of them while trying to ignore the sudden fluttering of her pulse.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Princess, my ego could make you purr if you gave me the chance_.'

Oh, _goodness_. That— _that_ wasn't even subtle! Her face flushed to a bright scarlet instantly, colour doubling from the suspicious eyes currently staring at her in accusation. How was she supposed to play it off as nothing when her joints were stiff, frozen, and her expression was caught between incredulous and amazed that he was typing such things to her. His confidence was overflowing through her screen, blinding her momentarily, and she had to wonder if she came across as insecure as she felt when she messaged him back.

The hushed whispers from the bed brought her attention back. “Do you think it's from _him_?”

Rose hummed. “Do you think it's a booty call?”

Could it even be considered anything close to that? It was just a flirty text (that insinuated some body parts, she added begrudgingly).

“Doubt it.” The red-head smirked, eyes trailing along Marinette's body. “Unless she got some action at Chloé's party, she's all ours.”

“Thank you, you two,” she commented sourly, grimacing internally as her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, self-conscious. “It was just a friend updating me on something.”

The two holier-than-thou females upon the bed raised their eyebrows in unison.

“Fuck you both.”

“Love you, too,” Alya sang, eyes still narrowed. “Was it from the guy, then?”

She glared right back. “This is not an interrogation—now both of you, get _out_. If you don't, Rose, I'll never contact Max. And for you, Alya, I'll buy locks for the bathroom and my bedroom.”

“As if.” The red-head snorted.

Marinette demanded, “Out!”

They trailed out of her bedroom after a few more whispered threats, though it was all in good humour. The two laughed at the suggested punishments, even going as far to correct a few and point how to improve the torture to a new level. With a flick to her nose—and peering eyes that were looking towards her cell phone—they disappeared for the evening.

' _Marinette:  
And how many girls have you made purr, kitty?_'

Her face burnt but the question was constantly nagging her, a hum within her brain that refused to disappear no matter how many times she willed it to.

It didn't occur to her until late that evening, when he replied again, that their time difference had obviously changed again. She mentally reminded herself to ask for updates in the future.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Only you, hopefully._ '

Oh, he was definitely a sweet talker.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Keep dreaming, kitty_.'

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_Subject: Clafoutis_

_My lady,_

_Perhaps we should use this to continue the tone of our last messages. We can separate them, unless you'll feel more comfortable if we stopped._

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

Her bags were packed and ready, the only remaining articles of clothing to be packed separately, since they were dirty, were the ones she was wearing at that moment. Marinette adjusted the tight black dress she'd wiggled into, pulling on a deep scarlet cardigan to cover up the lace panel at the back for the journey to Aurore's. The last day of university had been loud and rather relaxed, thankfully, so she'd said her good-byes to the ones she wouldn't see that night at the party. Nathaniel hadn't been in attendance, and she had doubts that she'd see him tonight as Aurore wasn't too fond of the quiet boy, so she bit her lip while typing a quick message to him on her cell phone.

' _Marinette:  
I hope you have a good holiday, Nathaniel. This is Marinette from class._'

The high-heeled shoes she slipped on were pretty rather than practical, and she knew she'd regret them towards the end of the night if they failed to catch a taxi back in time.

“Marinette, come on!” Alya hollered through the door, the soft taps of her heels against their floorboards echoing as she walked around the kitchen.

They still had five minutes until their ride arrived. “Hang on, one moment!”

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Chat,_

_Your messages are always a highlight of my day; flirty or not._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

She closed the laptop shut gently, grinning widely that her insecurities weren't clear in her message. She was _encouraging_ him—if he needed any at all! It was polite of him to ask her feeling on the subject. He was a secret that continuously made her heart beat fast, and create feelings that she considered foreign more often than not.

Rose burst into the bedroom, excitement clear on her expression. “Mari!” she chirped, walking as quickly as she could in bright white strappy high-heeled shoes to drag the dark-haired female out of the room. She was clad in a flowing candy pink dress that fell into three layers for the skirt, while the bust was tight and showed an ample amount of cleavage. Marinette politely asked whether she was going to wear a jacket, and the reply she received was, “I have nothing to match that's not at the bottom of my suitcase.”

And so, Rose proceeded to cling to the two of them for heat during their ride. Marinette held her small dark-coloured bag on her lap, absent-mindedly wondering how she ended up with Rose's and Alya's cell phones in her bag, too. The two of them had conveniently forgotten to have a bag, or even any pockets, so they'd shoved them inside at the first chance. Alya was the only one to dress for the weather and, surprisingly, not a dress. She wore a ruffled white blouse tucked neatly into tight leather trousers that did wonders for her figure. Her ankle boots were suitable for the evening, too.

“Here, sir!” Alya gestured to the apartment building.

Marinette rifled through their purses to find the correct amount of money to pay the man. They stumbled slightly out of the taxi, laughing when Rose managed to almost fall over with a loud squeak.

“Come on,” Marinette hummed, wrapping an arm around the blonde's shivering form. “Maybe someone inside will happily share their warmth with you.”

Alya whistled innocently. “Or Nino will, when he comes to pick up Chloé.”

“If he really does come in, he'll love my dress, for sure.”

Marinette laughed loudly, a tear of mirth building up in her eye. “Your b-cups are deadly, indeed.”

Rose jutted out her lower lip, using her forearms to pronounce her cleavage more so. They walked to the elevator happily, surprised when there was only room for two of them inside. Marinette shooed the two of her friends on it, saying she'd take the stairs and meet them inside. Despite their protests, a few friends from inside the elevator pulled them inside and involved them in their conversations.

“See you soon,” Marinette said, grinning as the doors closed.

Along her way up the winding staircases, she pulled out her cell phone, the nagging feeling that refused to go away stirring once again. How could she have forgotten Chloé had been saying how she was meeting up with Nino and Adrien that evening? Even if she hadn't heard it directly from the blonde, as she thankfully hadn't encountered her for a fair amount of time, it was strange to think about.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You're in Paris, aren't you?_ '

The cell phone retreated back into her bag as she stepped onto the right floor. Aurore's door wasn't wide open as it sometimes was, so she knocked against the stained wood and waited patiently.

The door opened to reveal the wide, burly figure of Ivan Bruel, a male with a spitfire personality and jet black hair that pushed gently to the right side of his head. He was also the male that Rose had not-so-gently kicked out of their apartment before.

“Ivan!” Marinette greeted happily, receiving a quick hug in return.

As always, the only hired-help was attending to the table that had various bottles of liquor stacked upon it. He wore the standard uniform Aurore usually enforced upon the bartender—anything as long as he had a black bow-tie around his neck, as she believed they weren't worthy of being called fashion for most.

Alya and Rose were cosied up on one of the leather couches beside Alix Kubdel, a quick-witted spunky girl who had dyed her short hair a bright pink that matched Rose's dress perfectly. They were happily comparing the difference between said things, and it seemed Alya had insisted on taking pictures to make sure it was clear to both of them. Marinette ruffled the red-head's hair on the way past, flashing Alix a friendly hand gesture when the female looked up and greeted her. Alix was a strange friend. There were times where she was close to the three of them, despite only sharing classes with Alya occasionally. She blended in with whoever she spoke to, somehow, despite the clear difference in interests as she was usually absorbed in her own. She wore dark-washed jeans and a band t-shirt, meaning she was easily the most casually dressed person at the party, even with her new shoes that had no scuff marks upon them.

“Hey, you,” Aurore greeted her, slipping an arm around her shoulder as she dragged her to the bar. “Let's get you trashed, shall we?”

Marinette snorted. “Sure.”

“Chloé's not here yet, so might as well get buzzed before we have to deal with her prattling on,” the blonde continued. Her hair was neatly curled, ringlets intricately falling together down her bare back, since her pale teal dress exposed that side, rather than the front—a beaded lace collar decorated her collarbones, the lack of cleavage surprising. “You're not going to see any breasts today, Marinette.”

The stare had been noticed, then. “But they comfort me so, Aurore,” she teased sweetly.

“Yeah, and they drive Kim mad,” the blonde replied sourly.

She blinked. “You invited Kim, the personal trainer?”

Aurore clucked her tongue in disapproval. “Yes, the one that's head over heels for me.”

“Most guys are, though,” Marinette said gently. A brightly coloured drink that was too obnoxiously coloured to be safe appeared in her vision the next moment. She almost spluttered in surprise when Aurore knocked her drink back in one gulp, immediately demanding another one from the bartender (who was just as bemused as she). “You don't usually invite all of them here—you actually reject them, sometimes really harshly.”

The blonde sniffed indignantly, eyes darting to the front door. “It's not that I don't like him,” she started lowly, sipping the next beverage slowly. “We just don't really go well—we tried it before and we failed gloriously.”

“Wait,” Marinette gasped, surprise clear on her expression. “You were _together_? With Kim?”

“A few years ago, we were,” she clarified, tapping Marinette's drink to indicate it needed to disappear soon. The dark-haired female obediently gulped the burning concoction, wincing only internally at the overly fruity taste. “I ended it just before I came here for university. He's been like a puppy ever since.”

They ended up on a free couch in the corner—since the large living room had far too many for a single girl to live with—with hushed tones that were only just audible over the steady beat of the music playing through the apartment. “I can't even imagine you two together,” Marinette confessed softly. “I mean, you're just very different, you know? I predict that you fought more often than not.”

“A few times,” Aurore admitted with a small smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “He grew distant after a few months and stopped messaging me during the day. I was pretty confused, especially since he'd already graduated and left so we were a few hours apart.”

A frown grew upon her lips. “He didn't cheat on you, did he?” Kim's tone had been soft when he'd mentioned Aurore to her before, and it had been clear that he held a torch for the blonde, but it wasn't always fair to judge someone by first impression. “I'll kick him in the balls myself if he did.”

Aurore laughed loudly at that with a sincere smile that reached her eyes. “I don't even know, really. I just ended it as I couldn't focus on much else with him being an ass.”

“Good on you.” Marinette bumped her clothed shoulder against the blonde's bare one. “Want me to buffer for you if he gets near when you're really drunk?”

A snort was her reply.

Kim arrived half an hour later in a simple black suit without the jacket, and Chloé wearing a very revealing tartan patterned dress that came above mid-thigh. Her cleavage was full on display, showing she had no bra on, and the make-up that she usually wore was scrapped in place for thick bronzer and dark eyeshadow. Her lips were strained a deep red and pulled down into a frown as she scanned the room.

“Where is everyone, Aurore?” she questioned, sashaying to the bartender.

Aurore pulled a sour face before joining Chloé at the bar.

Mylène stumbled through the door in bright purple high-heeled shoes and an equally purple dress ten minutes later. Rose loudly screamed in excitement and rushed towards her friend, pulling her by the hand to introduce her to everyone that was present. Another drink was shoved into Marinette's hand as she relaxed against the cool leather, a pleasant smile upon her lips.

A noise from her bag caught her attention.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You're a really good stalker, princess. How'd you know?_ '

She sipped her drink.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I've got a tracker on you._ '

Alya had appeared and taken a picture of her while Marinette was distracted with messaging him. When she looked up and met the bemused expression of her bespectacled friend, Marinette jumped in surprise. Alya simply shook her phone, which she'd managed to take from the bag without her noticing, with a cheeky grin before running away, loudly calling out to Rose that she'd succeeded. She shot a dirty look towards the giggling blonde, silently accusing her of being a traitor.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _It's unbecoming to lie, princess._ '

She huffed silently.

At that moment, Chloé sighed loudly and drank the rest of her drink before clearing her throat. “Well, as sad as this party has been, I really need to get going now…” The unpleasant parts of her personality were shining brightly. The pause was clearly there for someone to ask her where she was going, so when she only got a few eye rolls and snorts at her behaviour, she placed her hands on her hips with a frown. “ _Nino_ will be coming up here to fetch me, so don't drool all over him.”

She'd assumed that the blonde would simply meet him outside; but, of course, Chloé had already given the okay to security to let him through, so she had approximately five minutes until the man that she was messaging flirtatiously to walk through the door and promptly leave with someone she was indifferent about. She eyed Rose, who was outwardly panicking rather than inwardly like Marinette was.

After forcing herself to take deep breaths and try to school her expression to a normal one, she slipped into the seat next to Rose. Her hair wasn't pulled into twin-tails like the last time he'd seen her. Instead, the strands were styled into a high bun with her bangs free, a few long tendrils framing the sides of her face.

“Is he _really_ coming for her?” Rose murmured, glaring daggers into Chloé's back.

“They're probably friends,” she whispered, “so being rude won't solve anything.”

“Friends, my ass,” Alya interjected, prying hands falling upon Marinette's shoulders. She stiffened from the sudden movement, cold air brushing her skin as the red-head proceeded to pull her cardigan off. “There we go.”

Marinette blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Go get a drink and stand by the door,” she explained slowly, a sly smile across her lips. “You're friends with him, too, aren't you? Just see if he'll recognise you there.”

Her expression turned incredulous. “Are you mad?”

“Quite.”

Rose was the one to give Marinette the shove that almost pushed her onto the floor. She stood up on wobbly legs, surprised as Mylène was the one to force a drink into her hands. “We _were_ friends! _Were_!” she hissed lowly. “He didn't recognise me before, so why are you doing this now?”

“That was the first time you actually agreed to see him,” Alya pointed out, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “And it was in public before—if he said anything, it would've been pretty hectic, don't you think?”

Alix playfully punched her shoulder. “Just go, otherwise they'll keep bugging you and it'll end up really embarrassing.”

Either Alya had mentioned to Alix before about her and Nino's relationship, or the petite girl with freshly-dyed hair was already intoxicated more than enough and just went along with the flow of their conversation. She eyed her through narrowed for a few moments before sighing softly, trudging towards the other side of the apartment to be within view when the door opened. She held the strap of her bag self-consciously, a strained smile across her lips when Aurore mouthed “ _Are you okay_?”

Chloé was pointedly tapping away at her cell phone while sipping her drink. When the blonde began to stand up, her emotions got the best of her. Marinette felt cold from nerves, heart beating dangerously loud, as her decision was made. She bee-lined for the bathroom, slamming the door shut and quickly locking it in seconds. Her knees felt wobbly and there was a thick lump in her throat, and all she could say to her reflection in the mirror was, “Coward.”

She hadn't even tried. Just from seeing Chloé get up and begin to leave, she'd panicked and headed straight to safety away from prying eyes.

If he did recognise her, she didn't want to answers the questions that were surely going to be thrown her way.

If he didn't, the sinking feeling of neglect was going to bubble within her once again.

“I can't win,” she murmured sourly.

The floor was cold and comforting as she sank down onto it, back against the door. She stayed with her self-pity, wondering whether she was more intoxicated than she'd previously thought, until there were a few knocks at the door. They continued every ten seconds for a minute or so before the person gave up.

The next person to arrive knocked tentatively in a pattern that she recognised.

“Marinette?” Alya called softly. “Are you okay in there?”

“No,” Marinette groaned into her bare knees. “I'm a real coward.”

The red-head hummed softly, a comforting noise. “What happened out there? You looked rather panicky.”

What could she tell her? ' _Oh, I just have some strange feeling about him, but I'm really not sure how to face him?'_ She couldn't—Alya would react just as badly as Marinette would if she wasn't the one in the situation. “It's scary,” she murmured, “I've got this image of him in my head, and what if actually meeting him ruins it?” The sweet boy next door, the flirty man that was constantly charming—they were one and the same, but how was he in person? What if he was completely different? The relationship they were only just building was fragile, but she treasured it greatly.

“He's nice, Marinette,” Alya commented, breaking her out of her stupor. “When we took the picture together, he joked and laughed with us. Even with fans he's genuinely kind. He didn't say much just now, just greeted everyone and said they had to get going.”

“You sound like a real fan,” she joked.

“Maybe I am,” the red-head replied honestly, the ambiguous answer more than she'd admitted for many years. “I'm just as curious about the boy that used to live in my home—but that can't be anything compared to you.”

She sighed, running a hand through her loose bangs. “Thanks, Alya.” And she was, truly.

“I'll get you a strong drink for when you're out of there—Chloé's already gone, don't worry.”

Then the chance to see him again was gone. Her conflicted emotions were getting the best of her. She fished her cell phone out of her bag, biting her lip as she typed.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You actually just picked Chloé up from a party I'm at. She's been boasting all week_.'

The reply was almost instant.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You know Chloé? I didn't see you there._ '

There were two options on how to reply. She could either admit that she was a freaking coward, or claim that he simply didn't see her.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I attend the same university as her. Perhaps you need your eyes checked, kitty._ '

Lying to him felt just as bad as lying to herself.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I'd recognise you anywhere, princess._ _Do you want to come along with us?_ '

Did she? The only person she'd know other than Nino would be Chloé, who'd constantly mutter under her breath that she wasn't welcome there, or something along those lines. Even with the small pep talk she'd given herself, with the help of Alya, she still didn't feel ready to face him like that in public.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Maybe another time, Chat.'_

Being a coward was almost second nature to her.

-x-

By late afternoon the next day, Marinette was strongly embraced by her father, with her mother hovering beside them, commenting how just how _healthy_ her daughter was looking since the last time they saw each other. Marinette's smile was slightly strained at that remark—there was a constant pain pulsing within her temples, and she'd already vomited that morning. If that wasn't a sign that she'd been too intoxicated the night before, then seeing the updated pictures of Alya's blog definitely indicated that she did. The images were risqué, as always, showing her dancing with bright drinks in her hand and clearly enjoying herself and not noticing the camera was directed her way.

“I'll just take this upstairs,” she said, indicated to the bag awkwardly clutched in her hand. They let her go after another tight hug, that time including both of her parents. She laughed fondly at them, motioning that she could get back to their business while she settled in.

The stairway up to her childhood bedroom into the loft was slightly chilly, but oh-so-familiar. She beamed widely at the room—the white and pink decorated furniture, also the neglected desktop computer that she'd had to leave behind. She ran her hand along the material of her single bed, thankful that her mother had already made it.

The journey home had been louder than she'd expected—causing the individuals sat by the trio to hush them constantly—as for the most part, they'd discussed the previous evening. Alya had taken more pictures that she'd remembered, some which she was surely going to use as blackmail in the future. Marinette's gasped aloud in surprise when she saw a particular image; or rather, she saw Alix and Kim caught mid-kiss with their arms wrapped awkwardly around each other—she was practically half his height! It had been Rose's turn to splutter incredulously when there was a picture of Ivan and Mylène blushing while conversing, fingertips only just brushing upon the couch. Alya hadn't mentioned the mini-meltdown that Marinette had had the whole journey, and she was very thankful for that.

She fell back onto her mattress with a sigh.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Princess,_

_You're a highlight of my nights currently. It's my only free time to think what I want to—maybe we can include some feeling in there soon._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

“Oh,” she gasped, gnawing her bottom lip self-consciously. She'd encouraged this behaviour—she might as well have just told him to flirt with her at every chance he saw! Rather than feeling turned off from the forward message, she found herself relieved that there wasn't a cat pun in sight. Was he toning down the humour just to flirt?

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Chat,_

_I might need some more purr-suasion before you can feel me, kitty._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

He didn't need to restrain himself for her. As long as the puns weren't excessive and multiple in every sentence, then she felt that she was able to learn more about him; such as personality, and whichever quirks she could make out through messages. A spluttered laugh escaped her lips, quickly developing into enthusiastic laughter that had her clutching her stomach desperately, as she thought about just how _ridiculous_ he'd sound if he actually spoke his favoured puns. Would he do it with her? He hadn't in any of the interviews that he'd done—especially considering fans had only seen Plagg's paw before.

It was a secret between them that she held dearly. They were steadily building up, and she was becoming increasingly selfish and wanting to keep everything locked away safely.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Princess, I'm assuming you're finished with classes for now. Would you like to meet during your break?_ '

“No,” she hissed, deleting the unsteadily typed rejection message. There was more than enough time to _try_ and prepare for the future. He'd be travelling back to their old neighbourhood, possibly, back where she felt safe and familiar (even if he didn't cause those reactions himself). “I _want_ this.”

' _Marinette:  
_ _Will you have the time?_ '

The answer was ambiguous. It wasn't a clear denial or affirmative, though her stomach sure felt as though she'd agreed to it. Her turmoil was short-lived, however, as she was soon called down to spend time with her parents soon after. Alya and her mother, a tanned woman with dark sienna-coloured hair pulled into a tight bun, visited for dinner and brought over dinner from the restaurant that she owned. Marinette pulled Alya by the hand upstairs after their stomachs were full, leaving the chattering parents to their own devices.

“You couldn't _wait_ to get out of there.”

Marinette pulled a face. “You know how they are together! They start asking about our relationships, and whether we have any plans for anything further.”

“Well, Rose is the only one married between the three of us— _hey_!” Alya broke off screaming at the end, laughter soon following as the dark-haired female fondly whacked her with a pillow. “You usually just patiently say that you're more focused on school.”

“Well, I still am.” She sniffed. “I explained this to my mom just a few hours and received a good talking to.”

The red-head laughed heartily. “My mom said I'll be lucky if there's a guy that captures even half the attention I give to my phone.”

“Well, she's bloody right,” she replied cheekily, happily accepting the playful slap on her forearm. They fell back onto Marinette's familiar mattress; it was the bed they frequently used before they'd moved away briefly, simply because Alya's siblings were ever so keen on trying to befriend Marinette over the years. There had been a few cases of the girls fighting over who could share a playground swing-set with the older girl, blissfully ignoring their bemused big sister. “Anything changed at home?”

She felt Alya shrugging beside her. They stared absent-mindedly at the white ceiling, admiring the flat surface. “Not much, really, though my room was re-arranged a bit. I found something pretty weird.”

“Some of your old homework?”

Alya snorted. “I copied yours most of the time, be serious. No, my mom's bought a new wardrobe for me, so my clothes are kind of just folded into neglected piles right now.” As if there was much difference from usual. Alya was notorious for leaving her clothes in washing baskets, choosing to live out of them rather than in a stuffy closet. “There are a few drawings on the back of the old wardrobe that the wall usually covered.”

“You mean on the actual back? Not inside of it?”

The red-head wriggled upon the mattress, retrieving a cell phone from her dark-washed jeans. “On the back, I mean. They're literally _carved_ into the wood, like someone chiselled them in there. Let me find them in here, hang on.”

A lump stubbornly refused to be swallowed in her throat. That was _Nino's_ wardrobe, one of the only pieces of furniture that he'd left behind. He left a small bookcase, a bed frame that was particularly squeaky, and that wardrobe (all of which were just as unfamiliar to her). Alya's mother had re-painted the lot of them, allowing her eldest daughter to have her own room for the first time.

The pictures engraved upon the wood were clumsy, but sweet, she observed once Alya had given her the cell phone. More often than not the lines were too deep, or not consistent, and sometimes trailed off further than intended, but the meaning was clear. She felt Alya's silent accusing stare on her, but she chose to stare blankly at the screen. It told a short story with no words, the characters only having eyes and no other facial features, which told the tale of a young girl climbing a tree to save a creature that resembled a feline from the ears. Permanent marker coloured in the feline and the young girl's hair that was styled into twin-tails. At the end, she hugged the cat with a large smile—the first mouth to be seen.

It was definitely drawn by a child. The age was unclear, but it matched what she was thinking.

“Nino,” she murmured softly, jumping slightly when Alya hummed in agreement.

“I guess nothing's came back to you, still.”

Marinette shot her friend a pointed glance. “So _what_? The doctor said there's a very high chance it never will, so can you please _stop_ with the inquisition all of the time?”

“All right, calm it,” the red-head soothed, snatching her cell phone back. “I thought this might trigger something for you, but this is _not_ what I wanted.”

The words aggravated her rather than providing comfort. “All the fucking time!” she hissed, sitting ramrod straight. “My parents don't even ask me any more—they got the picture, but not _you_. Not my best friend.”

“I'm trying to help you!” she defended, hands emphasising her words. “You're always so fucking sad when Rose drags you to watch him—oh, don't even _try_ to deny it. I have eyes, you know! It's always when you think we aren't looking at you.”

Marinette stubbornly jut her jaw out. “It's the past, leave it.”

“The past?” Alya scoffed. “You ran to the bathroom with your tail between your legs last night. You couldn't even stay and meet him, Marinette. And in the crowd the other week, you lagged behind deliberately out of sight.”

That wasn't completely true, was it? Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as her frown deepened. He'd noticed her at the crowd (and even went as far as to say she was beautiful). “Stop it,” she requested meekly. The fact that she was a coward she was trying to accept herself, but having someone close to her point it out, too, was just another blow to her self-esteem. “I really don't want to talk about this.”

“Well, you don't have the choice,” Alya stated softly, wrapping an arm around her. “I sent an e-mail to his agent about you.”

Oh, no. The words repeated in her head, becoming louder and louder as she looked at her friend with a sincerely shocked expression. It was private information—she wasn't supposed to contact him (almost) directly with such things! Alya had been her rock when they'd become close enough—goodness, she'd even kept her secrets when they were fighting through puberty. “Alya—”

“Okay, I might've pretended to be you, actually.”

It was just getting worse. “Did you… get in contact with him? With Nino?”

She grinned, her brilliant white teeth standing out against her beautifully tanned skin. “Maybe.”

Then what did that mean for her? When had she contacted him—before or after their last conversation? And if it was before, then the real question was why he hadn't mentioned another conversation, or even another account contacting him claiming to be her. “When?” she asked weakly.

Alya smiled softly. “After he mentioned you in that interview; the one where he introduced his cousin.”

That didn't make sense, then. That was the same time that she'd contacted his agent and therefore managed to get into contact with him personally. “And you've kept in contact with him?” Marinette asked quietly. At the red-head's nod, she internally struggled to not laugh aloud. How glorious this was—and how utterly horrifying at the same time. Her friend, who had tried to help her, had managed to find a fake and therefore had become continuously fonder of who she presumed him to be. “Alya…”

“He remembers you, but he can't say that much.” She shrugged. “Busy life, you know? But that doesn't mean he's forgotten. You should just go for it.”

She cleared her throat, determined to tell her the truth. “Alya.”

“Mari,” she interrupted hotly, “you should really give him a chance. He's really quite sweet.”

She blinked in surprise. “What do you mean sweet?”

To her utter horror, scarlet began to stain her friend's cheeks steadily, and soon Alya's expression matched her own. She pointed to the red-head's face with an open mouth and absolutely incredulous expression. This was the girl who had actively avoided complimenting Nino for years—absolutely _years —_ and now she was _blushing_ from mentioning him? It wasn't even him; it was a random male, and she wasn't going to see reason without Marinette giving up her dear secrets.

“Well—I—oh, _fuck_.”

Marinette continued to gape. “You have a fucking crush!”

“Shut it,” the red-head snapped, flushing still.

“On _Nino_.”

Alya groaned loudly, hiding her face in her hands. “I'm well aware, Marinette!”

“You're—he thinks you're _me_!”

Her moans became louder and developed a whining tone. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“Well, you've shared a bed,” she pointed out in good humour. She yelped as Alya successfully whacked her in the face.

-x-

The family's pâtisserie was definitely busier than she remembered, even more buzzing than she'd imagined from the fans of Nino trailing though the doors. She managed to have one day off—to settle in, her parents had said—before they put her to work at the front. She donned the usual apron; a normal cloth with the logo she'd drawn in middle school intricately stitched at the front. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, though her bangs were free, and she hoped that nothing would manage to stain the black dress she wore (the most appropriate and modest clothing she'd packed).

“We'll be in the back for a while, Marinette,” Sabine warned with a kind smile. Her hair was the exact same shade as Marinette's, except cut into a sharp bob that curled inwards at the end to frame her face beautifully. “Just call if you need help out here; it can get hectic at times.”

“Don't be afraid to ask them to queue up correctly,” Tom said gently, patting her shoulder quickly for good luck.

The younger female pulled a face. “I'll be fine, you two. Now scat.”

Her doting parents soon disappeared to prepare more away from prying eyes, while she was left to switch the sign on the door back to open. She propped the heavy door open with a plant plot, a shy smile appearing when she realised it was the plant she'd gifted her parents for their last anniversary.

“It's open!”

Well, that was certainly different. Marinette blinked in surprise before schooling her expression to what she hoped was an inviting smile. A small cluster of girls, surely around her age, each wearing short skirts and sunglasses either upon their heads or tucked into their shirts, causing the material to sag and show more cleavage than usual. Rather than admiring the different selections the pâtisserie had to offer, the girls were eyeing her with caution.

“She wasn't here before,” one commented tartly.

Marinette gestured to their various treats on display. “Is there anything you'd like to purchase today?”

Another scoffed. “Not really, I need to lose some weight.”

Judging eyes trailed her body from head to toe. “So, are you the one who was friends with Nino?”

Just how stereotypical were they? Marinette grit her teeth, lips curling into a strained smile, as she remembered her father's tactic that he'd mentioned once. “How about I answer your questions _after_ you've purchased something?”

Two clutched their tongues in displeasure. They each pointed to different pastries randomly, and Marinette bit back a chuckle that they were some of the most calorie heavy they had to offer. As she was counting their change, she simply answered, “You can ask Nino if it's true. Otherwise I could just claim it was correct and leech off of your curiosity.”

There were two more instances the same after that, though they were spread out over time. After an older gentleman had ventured inside and enquired the same question, her parents took sympathy on her and allowed her to retreat for a small period of time for a break. She fell back against the sofa in their living room, relieved that it was _so_ much better than the one at university, and closed her eyes in thought. It wasn't necessary, but her parents had offered to pay her for the time she spent helping out over the winter break, just so she didn't have to feel guilty about asking for more money when she had to buy fabrics and such. Really, the two of them were far too giving.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _My schedule is mostly free in the evenings, which means there might have to be some candles between us when we meet._ '

She laughed aloud. The thought of sitting across from him at a romantic dinner setting was rather amusing; or, rather, the thought of him being sophisticated and a complete gentleman in public. What if he purred a cat pun when she was sipping a drink? She was sure she'd splutter and make a fool of herself, and he'd probably laugh about being the catalyst to such a disaster.

With an amused smile, she typed her reply while contemplating whether it would be safe to check to see if he'd replied to their e-mail.

' _Marinette:  
_ _The only lights between us would be the paparazzi._ '

The curiosity got the best of her. With a sideward glance to the staircase to check her parents weren't going to appear and question her befuddled state, Marinette gnawed on her lower lip as her browser slowly loaded on her cell phone.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Marinette,_

_Wouldn't my lips be persuasive enough? You wound me._

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

Her breath hitched. He wanted to _kiss_ her—sure, they'd insinuated a few things before, but this was the most forward he'd been since they'd began the strange dance they were currently performing. How much of it was real? For her—the girl with a rushed heartbeat and flushed cheeks—the answer was becoming clearer and clearer.

“I like him,” she admitted aloud, groaning internally from the realisation. He was a star within reaching distance, but would she ever be able to grasp him firmly in her hands? She slapped her cheeks sharply when her mind began to wander what else that could have meant, too.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Chat,_

_You're rather cocky, aren't you?_

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

“Not in that way!” she hissed at the screen, though it was too late. She'd sent the reply without even realising the double meaning to her words—goodness, he was going to practically purr at the insinuation.

For two days a routine appeared. She'd help out in the morning until afternoon, check whether Chat (it seemed a lot easier to separate the two names in her mind, since Nino was untainted and innocent in person in her eyes, at least) had replied, and then swindle curious fans out of their money when they began to question about whether the movie star used to live nearby.

Alya volunteered to help out one day, since Rose was busy spending time with Juleka since she'd arrived home the day before, so they were manning the front of the pâtisserie together in their matching aprons. Alya continuously managed to obscure her vision by somehow getting powder on her lenses more often than not, meaning she'd whine about groan in front of the costumers. The dark-haired female would respond with a retort or a scold, and then serve the bewildered costumers with a hastily spoken apology whilst Alya rolled her eyes.

“Now be nice,” Marinette hissed when she saw the red-head grumpily cross her arms.

“You won't even let me have one for my hard work!” she complained, staring icily at the treats on display. “You're so lucky I love you.”

“If we have any leftovers you can have first pick, okay?” Marinette said with a small laugh. Her friend perked up instantly and greeted the next costumers with a bright smile and a very helpful attitude.

There was only thirty minutes left until closing time that night. Her parents had already disappeared to have a pseudo-date with their surprising free time from Alya's help, so when a stout delivery woman wandered into the shop holding a rather large parcel, Marinette was confused about the contents. The woman was looking between the pâtisserie's name and the piece of paper in her hand, and when she nodded she had to assume that the place was correct.

“One of you Marinette?” she asked with a surprisingly low tone. At the befuddled looks on the two girls, she changed her wording to, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

She blinked. “I—that's me.”

With a mighty sigh, the delivery woman dropped the parcel onto the floor and thrust a notepad out for the dark-haired female to sign.

She shared a bewildered look with Alya, shrugged in defeat, and dropped to her knees to pry open the tape upon the box. After a few minutes of trying, the red-head shoved a pair of sharp scissors into her hands and she began to carefully open the box.

“What do you think it is? There's no return address.”

Indeed, there wasn't. There was only a send address and nothing else. “I'm really not sure.”

The content was just as baffling. There was a brightly coloured long-sleeved knitted sweater that was a bright scarlet with a ginger cat in the centre that was cuddling a white ball of yawn. It would've been at least a tiny bit cute if the cat wasn't covered in fleece so she could actually stroke her fingers over it. Underneath it was a small bed which was plush, a dark gray and cream, with paw prints covering the material.

Alya laughed aloud. “Did you order this? This is fucking hilarious.”

“Definitely not.” She picked the cat bed up, predicting that it was for the size of a fully grown feline. “It can't have been a mix up, I mean, it's addressed to me.”

“Is there a note or anything? Or do you have a stalker that's really interested in cats?” Alya teased. “You can barely remember to take care of yourself, let alone a pet.”

Underneath some of the unnecessary bubble wrap at the bottom, she found a pristine envelope that was labelled, ' _Purr-incess._ ' Her expression soon turned incredulous—was this _why_ he hadn't replied in over two days, because he was waiting for this ridiculous present to arrive? It wasn't even Christmas time, and they certainly hadn't mentioned exchanging gifts before. “Silly kitty,” she murmured fondly.

However, she was louder than she'd assumed. “Marinette?” Alya questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I'm opening it,” she replied.

' _Marinette,_

_I saw a sweater similar to this, and I just had to get you one that looked like Marzi. I hope he enjoys the bed, too. We should talk about cats some more (either kind is fine)._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

“Oh, _”_ she whispered with wide eyes. He had mentioned in parting about a feline (she'd assumed) with that name, but not since they'd reconnected. If Marzi had been so close to her, a companion who would appreciate a bed to cuddle into, then why had she not heard of _him_ since? Guilt bubbled in her stomach as she connected the pieces. Marzi was a honey-coloured feline that was probably the same age, or perhaps slightly older, than Plagg. What if he wanted to see the feline soon—what on Earth would her excuse be?

Alya flicked her in the forehead. “Marinette.”

“Alya,” she started with a soft voice, “has Rose mentioned anything to you about a cat before? As in, seeing me with one sometimes?”

She shrugged in return. “I can text and find out, though the reply will be really delayed. I'm pretty sure she's eating cheesecake with Juleka right now.” And her sweet tooth was surely going crazy in the presence of her wife. “So you do know the sender?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks as she clutched the letter protectively to her chest. The content was rather tame, other than the implied dirty joke towards the end that was choosing to ignore for the time being. “Yeah,” she said with a thick voice and averted eyes. “It's… that guy I was telling you about before.”

“So this mysterious man that you used to make mud pies with,” the red-head started, inspecting the sweater with furrowed eyebrows, “sent you a Christmas present of cat supplies? What on _Earth_?”

Oh, how could she reply without awkwardly telling Alya that she was messaging a poser that really wasn't Nino, and that the _real_ one was sending her a bloody cat bed? There wasn't an easy way—it was either hurt her feelings or lie longer for the time being. She mentally crossed her fingers hoping that the soul Alya was conversing with wasn't underage.

“We never made mud pies!” The comment was accompanied with a sharp punch to the tanned female's arm. “Just let me close up then we'll talk about this.”

“Oh, you better explain yourself.”

After the doors were safely locked, shutters closed so no one could see inside the store, Marinette counted the remaining products with a proud smile. Thankfully, there was only three left. So she gave the sweetest treat to her friend while choosing the light option for herself, wrapping the remaining for a later date and stored it in the kitchen. They settled down on the living room couch, flicking through the channels on television while choosing what to watch. At university their channels were severely limited due to their lack of television, so the large variety was rather daunting in comparison.

“There's just too many!” Alya cried, leaning back into the couch. There was a swipe of custard upon her upper lip, and Marinette had counted at least three minutes since it had appeared and the red-head hadn't noticed—her total previously had been five last year. “Just type in a random number, I guess.”

They continued to browse despite the suggestion until Marinette's fingers stilled upon the remote. There was a channel that she usually avoided, unless Rose demanded they watch it for coverage of Nino, so when she saw that there was a premiere where they were filming the arrivals live, she automatically turned it on. Alya merely raised her eyebrows, though it was obvious that she was interested, too.

“So this is the guy you like,” Marinette started softly, wondering where she was going with the conversation. The red-head nodded slowly in return, eyes scanning the individuals exiting limousines with perfect style and poise. “Do you think we missed him?”

It seemed that Alya was withholding information. “It only started three minutes ago.” She flushed when it was obvious how quickly she'd answered. “Rose might have mentioned it earlier, and I just forgot to tell you.”

“I always thought you liked—well—were a fan of him, but not to this extent,” she eloquently continued, eyes scanning the television. “It was a bit obvious that you admired him, even with Rose's obsession.”

The red-head hummed in agreement. “It's just a pride thing, you know? Admitting that I'm a fan after Rose shoving him down my throat for years feels like defeat.” She supposed it made sense; Alya was definitely stubborn when she wanted to be, sometimes worse than anyone else she knew. “But now I feel like I really know him, not just the screen version.”

Oh, that really wasn't good. “Alya,” she said softly, holding her elbow self-consciously. “What if it isn't him?”

Alya's expression turned incredulous. “How couldn't it be? What, do you think I just e-mailed a bunch of random addresses, hoping that one would turn out to be him?” She didn't give her a chance to return. The red-head stubbornly crossed her arms beneath her breasts, a frown deeply contorting her expression. “Look, I know I really shouldn't pretend to be you, but I don't want to ruin this.”

“This?” Marinette repeated softly, a hand falling upon her friend's knee with a small squeeze that was supposed to be comforting. “Unless there's some sort of confirmation, you could be giving them all the answers they need to claim to be Nino without realising it.”

Her expression fell. “Maybe you're right.” Alya sighed, head lolling back upon the cushions, eyes trained on the white ceiling. “I just really want it to be him now, I guess.”

Marinette's face contorted with guilt. “It might really be him, though.” There was less than one percent chance, but it was still one, right? “You can't expect him to be entirely honest when you're not even admitting who you are.”

The red-head scowled, an exaggerated sigh escaping her lips. “Stop being right all the time, Mari.”

“You're forgetting one thing, friend,” she said, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing tightly. “You didn't have a crush on Nino for all these years—it's this guy, isn't it? So even if it turns out not to be Nino, it's the new guy that you're feeling such emotions for.”

Alya looked at her with squinted eyes. “You're getting wise with old age. Is that a gray hair I see?”

The announcer on the television startled them both. “And there was Nino and Adrien, arriving together in white and black!”

Alya responded first. “We fucking missed it.” And all Marinette could do was laugh in response, the sound soon becoming breathy at the red-head's glare.

“Well, we've seen him arrive many times before, so unless he tripped and hurt himself then it's nothing new.” She grinned.

“Are you a cat person, Mari?”

The question confused her momentarily. “That's a bit random for you.” With a mock worried expression, Marinette pushed the red strands of hair away to feel the temperature of her forehead. “No fever; I think you're just going mad.”

Alya playfully swat her hand away. “Nice try, girl. You said you'd explain the crazy gift from earlier, but we just got a bit side-tracked.”

And she'd almost managed to get away with it. Marinette rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner, wondering just how she could skirt around the subject of who Chat really was, once again, especially after trying to break the news softly to Alya earlier that evening. “I don't really know what to say, honestly,” she started with a sigh. “I haven't told him about my accident, so it's probably something from back then.”

“Well, you definitely didn't have a cat.” Alya wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Can you imagine all the cat fur downstairs? Your parents would be horrified.”

“That was my first thought, too.” The happy mood she was in previously crumbled, a real frown settling upon her lips at the thought. Her parents hadn't been present at the time of the accident; apparently the incident had gathered a crowd in public, which meant one of the kind strangers surrounding her had cared enugh to call the hospital, though there weren't many details reiterated when her parents arrived with tearful eyes. “Even when I was home-schooled for that year, I didn't hear anything about cats.”

“Well, your street has quite a few stray cats, doesn't it?” Alya murmured, clasping her hand in a comforting manner. She traced her thumb in soothing patterns. “Maybe you had a favourite out there and that's who he mentioned?”

The feline would've been so young. If she'd really cared for a little kitten that was roughly the same age as Plagg, she'd left him when he was still quite small and growing.

“None have ever approached me,” she pointed out softly. “Even if I'm alone and taking my time, there hasn't been any strays that have wandered up to greet me, especially not any ginger ones.”

Alya hummed. “Maybe he was taken in by a family, or placed somewhere with other strays?”

“It's been over a decade, Alya.” Marinette closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “There's no point digging up the past.”

“So you're going to wear a cat sweater and have an unused cat bed in your room? I don't think so, Mari.”

She shot her a glare out of the corner of her eyes. “Maybe cat sweaters are in fashion this year.”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Alya chortled. “Go ahead and make a load for our blog, would you?”

In protest she puffed out her cheeks with a furrowed brow. “I have no part in your awful blog!”

The red-head took that comment as her cue to leave with a cruel, mocking laugh that was worse than a cliché movie villain. She flicked Marinette briefly on the nose before retreating down the stairs to return home. Marinette rolled her eyes at her behaviour, the sour mood banished once again. Although she was anxious from her past have been mentioned again, she knew that she needed to come clean about the truth at some point (especially if they were going to meet).

' _Marinette:  
_ _You're absolutely terrible. I had to hide your letter so my friend couldn't see the dirty comment!_ '

She messaged him long after his event had ended and she was tucked warmly into bed with the lamp on and a sketchbook in her lap. The pencil she had been using was tucked behind her ear as she tapped away on her phone. It took him the length of two sketches to respond.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I couldn't resist after not talking for so long. Are you busy right now?_ '

Her eyes flashed to the clock. It was two o'clock in the morning, but she was wide awake without much of a reason. Her parents were already tucked away in bed on the lower level of their home, so she assumed they wouldn't wake up if she made a bit of noise.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Don't keep me up too long and I'm all yours_.'

The desktop computer would distract her too much, so she decided to see if he'd replied to her e-mail in the morning. After another sketch, he'd responded with a message that caused her heart to stutter.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Can I call you?_ '

Well, it was the perfect time to test out her theory. Would she be just as attracted to his voice, and person, as much as the sweet words he messaged her with?

' _Marinette:  
_ _Permission granted_.'

She gnawed on her lip anxiously, cell phone clutched within her sweaty hands. It wasn't a big deal, she tried to tell herself, but the consistent shake of her hands was more than distracting. “I'm going to fucking stutter,” she moaned, squeezing her eyes shut in defeat.

Her cell phone began to vibrate, and she screeched in response, dropping the cell phone in the process. With panicked eyes she glanced at the glowing screen that had the unmistakable text of ' _Prince Chat_ ' bright and wide for her to see clearly.

After taking an audible gulp, she accepted and pressed the cell phone to her ear with shaky hands.

“He— _hi_!”

She internally slapped herself for the eloquent greeting. All that was audible on the other end of the line was shuffling, the distinct sound of static, and then a severely butchered voice that clearly wasn't Nino's. “H—a—hel—”

A quick check showed that she had full signal. “Eh, hello?” The loud distorted noise made her grimace while pulling the cell phone away from her face. “You have no ba—signal! No signal!”

“Mar—” The line went dead. She blinked, bewildered, before laughing aloud at her luck. What a great first conversation they had had, especially when it wasn't even her fault that it had messed up. A message came through almost instantly.

' _Prince Chat:  
I'm getting a new service provider immediately._'

Her smile grew soft.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Go to sleep first, kitty. You were quite robotic just then._ '

 _PREVIEW:_ ' _The bed's on the floor now—easier access, wouldn't you agree?_ '

 

 


	5. 05

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still slowly catching up the FF! Thanks for the kind comments and views.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

When her cell phone began to chime the next afternoon during her shift, her parents shooed her out of the store and into the back to answer it—apparently it had made a darn awful noise at least three times in ten minutes, so they'd allowed her to disappear briefly whether it was urgent or not. Surprisingly they were all from different people. Rose had sent a terrible joke that she promised sounded a lot better in Italian, while the second message made her gape at her phone. Nathaniel had messaged her for the first time.

' _Nathaniel Kurtzberg:  
__Hello. I hope your holiday has been okay so far._ '

And that was it. Though it was barely two sentences, it was so much more than she'd received from him in over a year. With a bright smile and fast fingers, she replied.

' _Marinette:  
__Hi, Nathaniel_. _Mine's been rather hectic as I'm helping out my family's_ _pâtisserie lately. How has yours been?_ '

Nino—no, _Chat_ , she told herself—had sent another picture of Plagg. This time he was licking his lips with a lethargic expression, happily curled up and beginning to settle down. She briefly wondered where the feline stayed when he was busy with work, travelling around the world.

' _Marinette:  
__Do you have any pictures of Marzi?_ '

It wouldn't be obvious that she just wanted the information for herself. She bit her lip after the message had sent, and jumped in surprise when a reply was received five minutes later. It was Chat once again. As she stared at her illuminated screen, she desperately hoped that he really did have a picture stashed somewhere—he was in his hometown, after all. Perhaps he had a storage set up somewhere for some of his old possessions.

Her breath hitched at the image. It was a clear shot of a young Marinette missing a front tooth and with her notorious dark-coloured hair pulled into twin-tails, underneath a tree during a scorching summer. She wore a denim dress and a long-sleeved white shirt underneath that was covered in flecks of dirt and grass stains (much like her knees, she imagined), but cradled within her tiny arms were two small kittens. There was a sprinkling of dirt over their short-haired fur, and crusted into their tiny paws, but it was obvious that they were very young and part of the same litter. The black one, who was cradled in her right arm, was obviously Plagg whilst the honey-coloured feline on the left arm was Marzi.

It suddenly clicked. “For Marzipan.”

Plagg had bright emerald eyes, while Marzi's were a bright cerulean, much like Marinette's.

' _Prince Chat:  
__This is one of the best pictures I have of you. You never much liked my camera._ '

It was a cell phone image of a photograph he could literally hold in his hands. Her parents had pictures that they showed her after the accident, explaining what had happened in her life, but she'd never seen herself grin toothily covered in dirt whilst holding anything dear to her chest. She saved the picture, trying to swallow the lump that was continuously growing in her throat.

He'd kept pictures of her—ones that he'd taken specifically by himself. Her parents had said he was a desperately shy child, diving behind objects and trees to avoid being seen—once he'd stuck a hand out and waved at her mother from behind a car.

“Silly, silly,” she murmured fondly. She blinked repetitively to urge her tear ducts to remain dormant, but her throat grew tight and uncomfortable. With deep breaths and tight hands clutching her phone, she tried her hardest to combat the daunting feeling dawning upon her. “Silly kitty.”

A sob ripped through her mouth. She clutched at her lips, incredulous that the feeling was only increasing. No—she couldn't! It wasn't the time to have a small breakdown. She'd built the hole for herself, and it had to be dealt with.

The caring call of her mother floated upstairs. “Marinette?”

She'd fully attempted to respond but all that came out was a dry sob. Sabine emerged from the staircase; eyebrows knitted together in concern, and pulled her into a comforting hug. She didn't ask any questions and simply hummed a soft tune that was friendly, warm and inviting. Marinette sniffled, mortified that she'd been caught close to bawling her eyes out, and became vaguely aware that her cell phone was in a death grip.

“Mom,” she stated and winced as her voice cracked. “Did I—do you recognise these two?”

Sabine blinked. “Oh,” she said softly, recognition flickering across her expression. “I know you used to ask about animals but I never really thought…”

She looked up, hopefulness clear in her bright eyes. “Do you? I—I think the orange one was mine.”

Her mother took the cell phone from her hand, squinting at the picture to see closer. Her eyes darted between the image and Marinette's face, uncertainty tainting her expression. “That was around the time you were asking for a pet, yes,” she started, causing Marinette's eyes to widen, “But you weren't very specific, darling. You never mentioned any cat in particular; or animal, for that matter.”

Marinette pushed harder. “But do you recognise Marzi?”

“Marzi?” Her mother blinked. “Marinette, no, that cat's not called Marzi.”

“So you know him!”

Her mother pulled back, confusion clear in her bright hazel eyes. “Marinette, that's Tikki. She's a _girl_ , most definitely. She's Old Man Fu's cat in the next street over.”

Marzi was a she. It was entirely plausible that in their childhood innocence they'd just assumed the two kittens were both male and had left it at that, and it was certainly nice to think that she was cared for after Marinette's accident—and possibly before that as she'd never ventured home with the honey-coloured feline in her arms. “Mister Fu?” she asked quietly. The old man was notorious within the area; he was kind and energetic for his age (which wasn't exaggerated by his nickname), though he barely strayed further than his tiny front garden. His legs had gotten worse for the years, so he had a carer around most times to help. “Are you sure?”

At her mother's nod she felt conflicted. During the year she was home-schooled Mister Fu had been her company sometimes, especially when she was studying Chinese for the second time (which was quite fast as she was a quick-witted learner, and apparently he'd been amazing the first time), but she'd felt increasingly overcrowded and awkward when he constantly mentioned the past casually. More often than not she'd retreated into her room and sobbed in the foreign bedroom, not welcoming the easily given information. They hadn't spoken often once she'd entered school again apart from casual waves on the street.

“Thank you,” she said thickly.

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Marinette,_

_Wouldn't you like to find out just how cocky I am?_

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

Despite laughing aloud at his response, her heartbeat still stuttered at the suggestion. “I knew it!” Marinette laughed, thoroughly amused by how predictable he could be in one moment, and then completely surprise her at another.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_I thought we already agreed that you're gifted in other departments._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

Maybe it was time to start changing how formal she ended her e-mails, as she'd stuck with the same tagline since the first real reply she'd sent to him. He'd gone through a flurry of different phrases until he'd eventually stuck with his current of simply 'yours'.

“Yours,” she drawled softly, “Marinette.”

The pâtisserie was closed for the day, so Marinette was happily curled up upon her childhood bed while wrapped in a warm knitted dress and stockings, waiting for Alya and Rose to message her the time when they were to meet up. The city was beautifully decorated and she was just itching to venture out to view the hazardously placed twinkling lights and novelty decorations that were sure to be placed in tacky displays on certain houses. There was a large Christmas display near her home—a few minutes car ride away—and she was excited to see the current mayor turn on the arrangement's lights that evening.

The incessant buzzing of her phone caught her attention.

' _Prince Chat:  
__If I wear a disguise, would you meet me for the lights tonight?_ '

The tempting idea of them meeting in person had almost been forgotten. She eyed the sweater across the room with narrowed eyes. The monstrosity was currently on a hanger and placed upon the door of her wardrobe, outside so the pattern was still visible rather than hidden away within the confines of the furniture.

' _Marinette:  
__Do I have to wear the sweater?_ '

His schedule wasn't as busy as she'd assumed it would be.

' _Prince Chat:  
__How dare you, princess? I was going to wear my matching sweater._ _You're the Marzi to my Plagg_.'

Guilt tainted her smile. There was so much to tell him, but would it ruin everything they'd tried to build?

“Start small,” she murmured a butchered version of a pep talk.

' _Marinette:  
__Her name is Tikki, actually. The sweater would probably look ridiculously good on you, so no._ '

If he could accept that small change that had happened whilst he was gone, then surely it would all go according to plan. “Plan,” she scoffed aloud, slightly manic laughter bubbling within. This wasn't the plan at all—it really wasn't! She had just wanted answers, and instead she was—she was busy preparing for a pseudo-date! Marinette groaned loudly, brushing the strands of hair from her suddenly heated forehead. The thoughts were not good for her head.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Rest in peace, twin boys. Fine! If I ditch the sweater, will you meet me?_ '

There was bound to be a crowd, so it was entirely possible she could slip away from her friends for an unknown amount of time without them growing suspicious. All the breath she was holding left her lungs when she realised the absurdity of the situation; she was going to leave her friends to meet Chat, all of which had some degree of a crush on him. Oh, how utterly _perfect_. Even _she_ had one—and it was one of the worst of them all! Rose's obsessive hobby that was akin to god worship was considered perfectly normal for the more hard-core of fans, but she—the girl who had always watched his films with mere curiosity—had blossomed into a woman who'd even stutter while trying to talk to him on the phone.

' _Marinette:  
__How do you feel about a competition?_ '

If he agreed, she was going to leave it up to a test of fate.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Anything for you._ '

She licked her lips.

' _Marinette:  
__Let's who can find each other first. The rules are: no cell phone contact, I won't have twin-tails, and you can't be found out by your fans. Winner can have anything they desire._ '

Marinette buckled her knee-high leather boots and slipped on a knitted hat and scarf to keep warm from the frosty weather outside. Five minutes had passed and during that time she'd re-styled her hair countless times before deciding on leaving it straight down underneath her hat, choosing simplicity instead. Just as she began to shrug on her scarlet peacoat, her phone chimed twice.

' _Prince Chat:  
You're going to be wrapped around my little finger, princess._ '

He'd accepted, then. If he could find her in the vast crowd, surrounded by puffs of ice-cold air escaping everyone's mouths, then surely he was serious. And if by some miracle she was able to spot him first, she knew exactly what she'd ask for; or, rather, ask for him to do—to willingly listen to why she'd dug herself into a hole and how much she wanted to continue.

Rather than send a message saying they were ready for her, Rose instead sent a picture of her posing with the taxi driver right outside. Marinette laughed at the middle-aged man's befuddled expression, along with Alya rolling her eyes in the background, and made sure she was presentable in the mirror once more. Her make-up wasn't smudged, thankfully, and her clothes seemed warm enough for the weather.

“It'll be easy,” she tried to tell herself, “just catch the cat first.”

Her two friends hugged her tightly as soon as she stumbled out of the pâtisserie and into the taxi. The blonde, clad in her ever-so-violet peacoat with a tight white button-up shirt and a navy-coloured lace skirt with small ankle boots, rambled on about her time with Juleka, once again. Marinette smiled fondly at the comments she was making, along with Alya's exaggerated facial expressions behind the blonde's head.

“You really like leather lately,” Marinette commented to the red-head after Rose had settled down after a small laughing fit. “Or is it just those trousers?”

She was clad in the same black leather trousers she'd worn before, this time with a tight sleeveless shirt that had a low neckline, paired with a maroon-coloured knitted cardigan and gloves. “Someone said my ass looks really good in them,” she commented dismissively.

The comment caused Marinette's jaw to open in shock. Her mind wandered, trying to remember when exactly she'd last worn them—oh, _no_. Alya had worn the trousers to Aurore's party, right when she knew that Nino was going to arrive to whisk Chloé away to a private party. Had _he_ said it? Well, no, it wasn't him—it wasn't her Chat—but it was some unsuspecting male that had apparently seen her best friend's ass. Oh, no, he was probably bloody under-aged, right?

“You didn't,” the dark-haired female choked out, eyes wide and fearful at the implication, “please tell me you didn't.”

Alya's grin was far too self-confident. “Oh, I did.”

Nino—no, that— _stranger_ thought it was Marinette's backside that he'd seen! She crossed her arms stubbornly, shooting disapproving looks at her best friend while Rose merely raised her eyebrows at the both of them. They were definitely a sight to see; Marinette playing the role of a disapproving mother, and the red-head was grinning madly while oozing self-confidence in her far-too-tight leather trousers. When they stepped outside of the taxi, she realised with a start that Alya was even clad in high-heeled shoes to a casual event such as this—something she'd been very vocal about in the past. Rose had had to bribe her multiple times in the past to get her to wear even the smallest kind.

“Juleka should be here,” Rose announced, standing on the ends of her feet to try and see over the gathered crowd. She was a few inches smaller than Marinette, despite the high-heeled boots she was sporting, so the action was almost pointless. “Meet up with me in ten! I'll be over there, by the ribbon-wrapped tree!” And with a lazy point to a tree in the distance, which was surrounded by others that looked much the same, she tottered away into the crowd.

When Alya made a move to follow her, Marinette grabbed tightly onto her wrist. “We need to talk,” she ground out.

The red-head huffed, blowing some of her dark ringlets out of her face. “Right now, Mari? I really don't want to fight tonight.”

“He thinks that I sent him a picture of my ass in leather!” she hissed, cheeks flushing as a few people shot them wary glances. In a quieter voice she added, “I'm really not comfortable with that, Alya. Even if it's not really my ass, I mean, you already have that for the internet to see! But not him!”

“Calm down.” Alya chuckled, tapping Marinette's flustered nose once. “I told him last night that I'm actually your friend, so it's all fine. He's _fine_ with it.”

She blinked. “Did he say anything else?”

“No, his family whisked him away for the evening and he's still quite busy with them.” The red-head shrugged with a small smile. “But we're all good. He actually laughed about it.”

The comment caught her attention. “You've heard his voice?”

Alya raised her eyebrows suggestively. At Marinette's gaping expression, she laughed and pulled her close into a hug. “No, we haven't yet. Just exchanged a few pictures, and his reactions are pretty good from that.” It still wasn't clear to her that it wasn't Nino that she was conversing with. But when seeing her friend with slightly reddened cheeks and bright eyes while talking about him, she couldn't quite bring herself to ruin the expression. “Speaking of which, have you sent your cat fellow any pictures yet?”

“I call him Chat,” she admitted with a laugh. Even if it was a secret name, having something to refer to him as with her friend that constantly pried for information would be a lot better than the strange nicknames he kept receiving. “No, I haven't. He's said I used to be pretty and such when I was younger, so there's no point in it.”

“No point?” Alya repeated incredulously. “There's _every_ point to it, Marinette! Just because he knows what you look like doesn't mean you can't send a sexy picture to literally shock him.”

She snorted. “So what should I do—pick a random picture of _Lady_ and hope for the best?”

Alya whacked her head, almost knocking off the knitted hat. “No, you dolt!” she hissed, gesturing to the crowd beside them. “Show him something else than what you can't see here—show him how much a tease you can be in private and drive him mad.”

“I never thought I'd see the day when you're encouraging me to send dirty pictures.” She yelped when Alya pinched her arm with a scowl. “What ever happened to stranger danger?”

“When a man sends you a cat sweater,” the red-head started slowly, “then you send a picture of you wearing _only_ that.”

She gulped at the thought. It was tempting, yes, but she didn't possess the self-confidence. “I think I prefer the Alya that used to tell me my skirt was too short.”

Alya grinned madly in return. “That Alya has long since grown up.”

They squeezed into the crowd successfully and worked through way through the throngs of people, trying to pinpoint exactly where Rose had mentioned earlier. They joked about how oblivious the blonde was about her location a few times (especially since almost all the trees were decorated around them), before heading off to a small food stand that was thankfully parked just beside the masses with a large, bright neon sign. After opting for hot cocoa with a swirl of cream on top, they clutched their drinks while navigating through once again.

Spotting Juleka was a lot easier than looking for tiny Rose. She was still as tall as Marinette remembered, meaning the blonde's head came to her shoulder, but what really caught her attention was that the tall female had dyed the ends of her ebony hair a bright purple—the same shade as Rose's coat—which slowly faded, much like the red that was on the dress she'd designed recently. Juleka's hair had been straightened so it hung perfectly as a curtain, a few dark strands covering her eye rather than being brushed back.

“Juleka!” Marinette exclaimed with a happy smile. The red-head beside her loudly commented on her new hair colour before pulling her into a slightly awkward hug. “You've got a healthy tan now.”

Juleka's voice was low and melodic, a pleasant tone that had only became more attractive with age. “Apparently.” She laughed, self-consciously tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Her skin used to be a bright porcelain much like Marinette's, but it matched Alya's naturally tanned skin from her time in Italy. “Are you still tucked away from the sunshine all the time, Mari?”

She stuck her tongue out childishly. “At least when I do venture out I wear something other than sneakers.” There had been only a few instances where she'd allowed Rose to dress her up, and almost always she'd towered above the rest of them after they'd reached puberty. In the few instances where she wore dresses, Juleka tended to stick to high-top sneakers in a variety of colours, and flat shoes for special occasions (which Rose insisted clearly meant her birthday).

Rose snorted. “If she wears heels then she'd be an adorable giant; and not to mention all the men will come flocking to her.”

“About that…” the taller female trailed off, pulling down the sleeves of her leather jacket with averted eyes. “I have something to tell you guys, and I really wanted to do it in person.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “You're making me nervous.”

Marinette passed her hot cocoa over to the blonde so she had something other to hold than to try and grab Juleka's hand during her explanation. She rubbed soothing circles on her back, a pleasantly interested expression plastered on while her mind went into overdrive trying to think about what could ask such a reaction in their stoic friend. Juleka had always been consistent—her reactions were the same, interests barely ever changed, and she was dangerously loyal to those she held dear.

“I—” Her voice cracked. “Well—I…”

Marinette shot her a small smile. “Take your time, Juleka.”

Rather than follow her suggestion, she instead blurted out, “I have a girlfriend.”

They gaped at her. “Wh—ho— _Juleka_?” Rose was the first to recover, though she probably should have taken her time instead of shrieking the first words to come to mind. Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, slightly concerned by the blonde's reaction. Growing up she'd simply assumed that Juleka was asexual as she never showed all that much interest to either gender. Even when Rose gossiped and swooned over the latest stars and insisted on sharing the topless images that she'd found on the internet, Juleka had simply laughed at her behaviour and flicked her forehead gently.

“I'm glad you've found someone.” Marinette grinned. “But does she know you're married?”

Scarlet began to colour Juleka's cheeks. “She can't wait to meet you,” she said, looking towards the blonde. “All of you—she's transferring with me next year.”

Alya raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How did we not know about this already? No wonder you're so happy out there.”

Rose looked at her best friend with wide eyes. “You never told me!” she cried, childishly pouting. She shoved the cup back into Marinette's hand and hugged the taller female tightly, muttering intelligible things under her breath which caused Juleka to chuckle softly. They were an odd pair, but the embrace clearly showed that the two of them were fine, even with the withheld information.

The act of affection made Marinette shake her head. “I'm going to walk around for a bit,” she said, cradling the warm cup between her bare hands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“You're not leaving me to be the third wheel.” Alya laughed. “Let's meet up again in ten, all right? I'm going to see if anyone's back home for the holidays.”

As she passed various young men who were either standing alone or navigating the crowd without someone by their side, Marinette paused and stared at them through squinted eyes. There were various possibilities of what a disguise could have meant for Chat, and she had absolutely no clue. A comical pair of spectacles was probably to be avoided, so any bespectacled men didn't catch her attention. A hat, perhaps? Though she soon decided it would probably just be a knitted cap if he wore one, rather than obnoxious and in the way. Maybe he had a large scarf wrapped around his neck so it obscured his face (that was the best she could come up with).

She walked slowly on purpose, making sure to take her dear sweet time working her way around the largest tree and around the crowd in a circle. She'd completed one lap by the time a large scarf caught her eyes.

The man had his back to her; gray peacoat, black trousers and a large black scarf that spilled over his shoulders and covered half of his ears while the knitted cap on top did much the same. Rather than think about her options, Marinette quickly ran towards the solitary male and tapped his shoulder with a wide grin.

Her grin faltered when she met his surprised hazel eyes. He was tall, tanned and had an unmistakable patch of hair on his chin that definitely was not what she was looking for. “So—I'm sorry!” Marinette stuttered, spilling her drink over her coat in the process. The blush upon her cheeks deepened from the embarrassment, which only became more pronounce when the male laughed lowly at the situation. He offered her his hand to steady herself and pulled out a small packet of tissues from his pocket.

“It's all right,” he said with a voice steady and low. “Here, I'll help.” And he did without waiting for an answer. The male patted her wet hands free of the warm liquid, though he stilled when he was about to proceed onto her coat. He cleared his throat, cheeks pink, and placed a few new tissues into her hands in exchange for her cup.

She swallowed the shy lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

With more grace that she could display on a daily basis, he managed to throw their trash into a nearby bin perfect. His smile was full of pearly white teeth. “I'm Théo, by the way.”

“Marinette,” she offered with a small smile. “Thank you again for your help.”

Théo, who was all charm and bright smiles, offered her another tissue with a small laugh. She continued to attempt to get the liquid out of her coat, though the material was surely stained.

“Are you here alone?” he enquired softly.

“Oh, I—” She cleared her throat, trying to make a coherent sentence despite her blazing cheeks. “No, I'm here with some friends,” she said, “we're meeting up again in a few minutes.” A few minutes where she was supposed to be looking for a certain male, not conversing with this suave stranger who's hair was pushed back into his hat apart from one curly strand escaping which came down to his chin. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It's okay.” He laughed, tucking the strand behind his ear. “I guess it's pretty hard to actually see who I am from behind.”

She laughed. “A little.”

“I'll see you around,” he said with a friendly smile.

After the embarrassment had worn off Marinette was on the prowl again, though she tried her hardest not to reach out and tap a stranger's shoulder again. There was another close call when she found another lonely man wrapped tightly in a scarlet scarf, but, alas, her luck was severely flawed so she apologised profusely to the man she pretended to bump into. Her cheeks were flushed as she scanned the crowd, but there weren't that many options left that she hadn't found. An odd thought crossed her mind as she saw Alya hugging an old class-mate fondly—what if he'd been serious about the sweater? There weren't too many men walking around without some sort of a coat, so the small idea of information proved to be very useless, even if it was a long shot. She swore that if he was simply watching her from afar and laughing at her interactions with strangers, she'd find an appropriate way to exact revenge upon him.

The minutes were ticking by and she wasn't making any process. She could recall all the faces she'd seen in the crowd at least two times by that point, and from the corner of her eye she could see her friends huddled together excitedly by a tree wrapped in tiny flower-shaped lights and tinsel. With a sigh she pushed a stray hair behind her ear, safely tucked under her hat, and wondered if she was wasting her time. Perhaps he'd been caught up, or even mobbed by friends. They hadn't discussed what would happen if they both failed; the pair of them clearly shared their stubbornness.

A few branches had been knocked from beside the path, littering the ground causing more than a few people to trip over; Marinette felt the sharp sting of pain as her leather-clad toes connected with a thick branch and immediately felt dizzy, body crashing towards the floor. Her arms were out in front to brace herself, but the sharp impact that was to be expected never came. Instead the breath escaped her lungs as her face connected into the material of someone's coat—a man, she concluded from the body shape she was currently sprawled upon.

“Oh, fu— _sorry_!” she mumbled, voice muffled by his clothing. With a burning face she pushed herself up, mortified that she'd managed to collide with another person during her misfortune. Oh, how _wonderful_ that her luck was absolutely awful that evening. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the male rasped. His lack of breath caused her common sense to resurface. Marinette clambered to her feet with shaky knees, brushing the dirt and grime off her clothing as he began to move, too. Through her peripheral vision she identified that he had blond hair from the strands that had fallen from his hat during their fall, and the askew position it was on his head. He was above-average height when he was fully stood; copying her actions by preening himself with slightly flushed cheeks—was it the weather?

Hopefully Chat hadn't seen that encounter, too.

“I'm so sorry,” she apologised again. Her nervous eyes darted around to the crowd surrounding them, looking for a certain male that still wasn't anywhere to be seen. “I hope nothing is broken.”

He laughed softly, the sound pleasant to her ears. “It's okay,” the blond commented as he leant down to collect his fallen navy scarf. “Don't worry ab—”

The voice to interrupt them wasn't the one she'd been hoping for. “Ma—Marinette!” Alya exclaimed loudly, pushing through the crowd as if her life depended on it. As she came into view it was obvious that there was some sort of a situation—her usually healthy skin was pale and slightly sickly, hair frazzled and rattled much like her expression. The red-head lunged towards her, pulling Marinette by the hand with crazed frenzy. “R-Rose—we need to g-go—”

Alya was the most eloquent and articulate person she knew. The constant stuttering paired with her completion made an uncomfortable feeling of unease spread in her stomach.

“Okay,” she tried to say in a steady voice, “lead the way.”

The male behind her tried to catch her attention. “Wait!” he exclaimed, but his request fell on deaf ears. Marinette was searching through the crowd with a determined expression, falling in stride with her worried friend rather than being tugged along, looking for the cause of the sudden distress.

The crowd parted for them and the unease within her only grew. Some people were watching with obvious interest, curiosity and a strange mixture of awe was mixed in to their expression as their eyes flickered near the tree they'd assigned as their meeting spot. The flower-shaped lights were flickering, half shattered with their glass decorating the floor, while the rest that were wrapped around the trunk were glowing an ominous scarlet from the liquid splashed dangerously across them. Her heart pumped loudly and painfully within her chest, limbs feeling sluggish and cold, as her eyes fell down to the scene in front of her.

A liquid trailed down to her boots, coating the material with the slick scarlet, and created a small pool as it continued to seep. She tried to swallow, but the action was lost on her as horror filled her expression.

An ambulance arrived roughly five minutes later. The victim wasn't Rose as she had feared from Alya's panic, though the blonde was injured slightly (and, of course, she whined as the doctors patched her up at the hospital). A stray bicyclist unfortunately had a branch stuck between the spokes of his wheel, which had caused him to connect with a tree and become quite severely wounded. The nurses assured them that he was going to recover in time, insisting it looked like more blood than it really was. The bicycle had ricocheted off the tree and connected with Rose's left arm, but the doctor assured her it was a clean break.

The blonde had more than a few shallow cuts from the shattered glass and bruises from the impact, but she insisted she was fine.

-x-

Her parents insisted she didn't have to work for the day since she was worried about Rose. Juleka had already informed her and Alya that she was staying at the blonde's home from that day on to take care of her until they returned to university. Apparently the medication she'd been given was working wonderfully, so Juleka insisted that she was keeping their small friend instead where her delirious comments wouldn't cause any trouble.

So that found Marinette lounging in her desk chair, surfing the internet for updates and any particularly interesting news. To her amusement there were a few complaints submitted to Alya's blog asking whether she was giving up with the updates (Marinette sincerely wished she would), but she was simply happy that her friend was okay and she still had a few days left of freedom before Alya became shutter happy once again.

Social media's main topic was surprising, though. The news had been about the painful accident last night—only a few had been informed that the man was recovering just fine, while others had left their answers as ambiguous—so the fact that another topic revolving around that night had become so popular piqued her interest.

The buzz was around a fan-taken picture of someone from the side. It wasn't clear in the photograph who was featured—since he had his hand covering his face—though it was obvious that the hat he was clutching in his hand clearly had a purpose. ' _Adrien Agreste, the Light in the Night_!' Marinette blinked in surprise.

“Chat's cousin,” she acknowledged. Blood rushed to her cheeks when she realised she didn't have to correct herself to refer to him by the nickname.

From another glance at the picture, an odd feeling ran through her. He looked oddly familiar, the nagging feeling constantly thumping within her. Her gaze trailed down to the navy scarf hastily wrapped around his neck before the pieces fell into place.

Oh, that _really_ wasn't good. The picture had to have been taken after she'd bumped into him—Chat's _family_ —so it was her fault that he'd been discovered in a roundabout way. From the picture it was clear that he hadn't gone out searching for fans to recognise him and cause a scene—and that exactly what they'd done, thanks to her tripping right into him.

But where there was Adrien recently, his cousin was there right beside him. Marinette tried to make out the faces in the background of the photograph, but none were the man she was looking for. Maybe he'd been with his cousin before she'd bloody tripped into him and caused that small commotion between him and the fangirls that weren't interested in the accident. Her mistake had ruined the night, most definitely.

' _Marinette:  
__I'm sorry for last night_.'

She sent the message guiltily. Even if she hadn't managed to reveal Adrien's presence in the worst way possible, she would've been whisked away to attend to her friend and the heavily injured cyclist.

He didn't reply until the next day. It was the twenty-fifth of December and the skies were clear, thankfully, and her parents were merrily toasting to each other across their dining table. Marinette rubbed her full stomach, grimacing at the thought of more food even if it was her father's best dessert, and finished off her tall glass of alcohol with an audible sigh. The liquid burned her throat and caused her parents to laugh fondly at her reaction—she never much liked sipping the appropriate wines to accompany their special occasion dinners.

With chaste pecks to her parents' cheeks she excused herself to her bedroom in her hazy state. The wine went straight to her head at first since she'd been saving her appetite for their late-afternoon dinner, and the fullness hadn't quite combatted the feeling as of yet. She settled onto her bed, sighing as the pillow felt _delightful_ against her cheek, and laughed at the silly presents she'd received.

Aurore had sent her a pair of high-heels that were bright red and terrifying. Rose had produced another scrapbook to document their previous year—thankfully it excluded any Lady pictures—with another gift of charming socks covered with lace as an extra. Alya, ever-thoughtful Alya, had bought her a new set of lingerie that matched in black with scarlet lace that made her roll her eyes (Sabine had remarked that they were rather beautiful). Juleka had given her candy she'd brought back home, while the rest of their old friends had sent postcards to update them if they hadn't made it back home for the holidays.

There were no more feline presents from Chat, thankfully.

She replied politely to the Christmas message in her e-mail inbox robotically. They were mostly from class-mates that she wasn't very close to or didn't click with.

She absent-mindedly licked her lips as she opened Chat's reply.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_My lady,_

_We'll agree when you've seen all the evidence._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

Perhaps it was the slightly buzzed feeling she was experiencing that caused her pulse to spike, becoming prominent between her legs rather than her chest. Oh, he was charming as ever, Marinette had to confess as she lifted her shirt up to trace the warm skin of her stomach. It would be so easy to fall to temptation, to just allow her fingertips to slowly trail to the warmth building down below.

“No,” she breathed, a sigh of frustration escaping.

It wouldn't be fair, would it? He needed to know everything—or, at least, the important details—before she could indulge herself in the attraction she was feeling.

' _Marinette D-C_  
to Bulle-Chat  
RE: Clafoutis

_Kitty,_

_It'll be my pleasure. Perhaps it can be a shared session of confirmation._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

She dozed off on top of the duvet, thoughts of Chat playing with the lethargic kitten that she'd bonded with as a child playing across her mind. Was he one of those people that gave their pets gifts for special events? Perhaps he was spending the day with Adrien and his family—with her favourite designer, too—and enjoying his time away from the spotlight. There hadn't been any news about him in the past few days, and the only topic that had popped up surrounding the Agreste family was from the previous evening (and still completely her fault, she sighed internally).

He was close by, but still out of reach. The Agreste's owned a rather large mansion on the other side of the city, one of the many they had around the world, meaning there was a chance that was where Chat's family was spending their holiday. The security around the home was tight and the systems were up-to-date—there had been far too many instances in the past where thieves had tried to break in while Gabriel was staying there for a period of time.

' _Marinette:  
__Are you still in Paris?_ '

There wouldn't be a reply so soon, she knew, but the answer was nagging upon her mind. The Agreste mansion was always a location that tour-guides showed to their groups as it was a big deal to have such a successful family living nearby the city.

The chime of her phone jerked her awake. Marinette spluttered in surprise, cell phone falling through her hands as if they were covered in a slippery substance.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Is your friend okay, Marinette? Yes, I am. I managed to slip away into the bathroom for a while._ '

Her eyes trailed to the clock on her cell phone. It was well past midnight, almost one-thirty in the morning, but he was still up and actively participating with his guests.

Adrien had heard what Alya had spluttered to her most likely, and relayed the information to him; Rose had been her closest friend at school when she was younger, she'd been told several times, so it was entirely possible that she'd told stories of her blonde friend to Chat as they were secretly spending time together. Oh, _no_ —he'd definitely heard about what had happened to Adrien, then.

' _Marinette:  
__She's okay, just a broken arm. My bed is rather lonely right now, though._ '

“How am I supposed to apologise for that?” she whispered. “Oh, sorry for revealing your cousin, by the way? Terribly sorry, just a big mistake and I'm sure he really dislikes me now.” A snort escaped her. “Yeah, right.”

' _Prince Chat:  
__I'd love to join you, but I'd rather not stub my toe on your ladder again._ '

Her eyes trailed around her room suspiciously. In the corner above her desk with the desktop computer and various drawers there was an elevated section where a bed used to belong to. It was technically a bunk-bed with the bottom removed to make room for her furniture. After her accident she'd been uncomfortable climbing the narrow ladder to the particular bed, so her parents had helped modify the room so the mattress was firmly on the ground where a couch was previously. There was only one conclusion to come to: Chat had been in her room. But when? Her parents were careful never to leave her home alone in her childhood, she'd been informed, and the only instance where he'd been inside was on the bottom level of the pâtisserie.

“My bed,” she murmured, eyes trailing to the ladder that had never been removed since the elevated section had been converted to store miscellaneous things, “a tiny, innocent Chat was in my bed.”

' _Marinette:  
__The bed's on the floor now—easier access, wouldn't you agree?_ '

Screw the e-mails being the only section for the two of them to flirt. She scoffed at just how _open_ she was to pursuing him as opposed to her reactions previously. Chat's response made her flush with joy, definitely outweighing the slight guilt that nagged on her for withholding information.

' _Prince Chat:  
__I'll get back to you with an e-mail you deserve, tease._ _Family's asking where I am, so sleep well, princess._ '

She grinned, rolling over to face the pillow. “I can't wait.”

-x-

The one to break the peace of her catatonic sleep was her pesky red-headed neighbour. The distinct sound of a cell phone taking pictures caused Marinette's head to jerk up—hair crazed and sticking out at all angles, and a bleary eyed—and gape in shock at the mischievous grin she was greeted with. Alya had stealthily removed her duvet while she was sleep very carefully; the material was pooled around her ankles, the cold air hitting her legs and causing her to shiver.

The dark-haired female tried to snap, but her voice cracked midway, “I still have a few more days of freedom.”

“This isn't going to be a Lady picture,” Alya remarked, raising her dark eyebrows suggestively. “These are just a few test pictures to see the lighting and such—we're all good to go.”

“Are you drunk?” she asked, baffled.

The red-head shrugged half-heartedly. She strode across the room, cell phone still clutched within one hand, and grabbed the sweater that was fully on display on its hanger still and threw it at the bewildered female on the bed, still clad in a pyjama t-shirt and underwear.

The conversation from before flickered through her mind. “No.” How could she forget about that? Alya had suggested she send him a picture of her wearing the sweater—and _only_ that—previously, but she'd shoved it to the back of her mind as a joke. But when the red-head simply tapped her foot impatiently against the floor with a raised eyebrow, she wondered just why her friend, the one that held no interest in men before the Chat imposter, had become so influential. “At least let me get dressed first.”

“We've discussed this.”

She snorted. “ _You_ mentioned this—we had no discussion!” Alya's expression remained the same, stubborn as ever, and as the seconds ticked by as if the wind were blowing them away, Marinette began to warm up to the idea. The sweater looked large enough to cover any revealing parts of her body, and the design wasn't low-cut or particularly fashionable, but the thought of sending such a picture to him after he'd called her a tease seemed rather appropriate. And if it stirred a positive reaction from him, she'd flush with joy and take that as permission to indulge in her own. “Do you promise this won't be a Lady picture _ever_?”

“Yes, yes.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Now take off your shirt and shove this on—what the _fuck_ , you slept with your bra on?”

“I was tired!” Marinette retorted, ordering her friend to face the opposite direction while she changed. “I assume I'm taking it off.”

Alya shrugged. “It's not like your nipples will be visible if you take it off.”

The brassiere stayed on once she felt the material of the sweater; although it was soft, not as scratchy as she'd expected, she didn't much feel like continuously changing that morning. When her feet were firmly planted on the floor and the clothing was in place, the material only just covered the front of her underwear (if the sweater had a less obnoxious pattern, she would've worn it with leggings or shorts). Alya shoved a small container of lipstick in her hand, commanded her to put on a small coat that wasn't far too obvious and thick, then pushed her back onto the bed.

Marinette spluttered as she fell back. “I haven't even done my hair!”

“It's bed hair, that style's supposed to be sexy,” the red-head said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Now sit there and look at me. Have your thighs touching so you're not spreading your legs like a tramp.”

“Oh, Alya,” Marinette moaned appreciatively, “you're such a professional at this—hey, quit your classes and become a photographer. It's your true calling, I'm telling you.”

The bespectacled female stuck her tongue out childishly. “Shut it, Lady, or this is going on the site.” Marinette mimed zipping her lips shut, trying to resist bursting out into pearls of laughter, and stared at her friend with raised eyebrows. “That expression is terrible, Mari,” Alya groaned, adjusting her cell phone, “you look like you're really enjoying bitching about your nemesis.”

“But you're my nemesis, Alya,” she teased, “and I've clearly just complimented you and your non-leather-clad ass today.” She chuckled sweetly when Alya flicked her lightly on the forehead. “Fine, what am I supposed to be thinking about, then?”

“Just don't gush all over your sheets while I'm here and we're fine.” She kicked the red-head in the shins with an innocent expression. “Fine, _fine_! Just look at the camera and smile—that's simple enough for you, isn't it?”

It took a couple of tries until Alya was satisfied with the result. She ruffled Marinette's un-brushed hair with a fond smile and promised to e-mail the picture, along with the snapshot of Chat's wardrobe, on her way back home. She'd simply visited for breakfast on the request of Tom, but Marinette had slept through the calls in the morning of them requesting her presence. Alya had gleefully accepted the role of waking her up—it was better than some of the wake-up-calls she had at university, though.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Marinette,_

_I had to take a few minutes to calm down last night; you are terrible. Would you let me call you again, this time to tell you all about how I'd like to touch you?_

_Yours,  
Chat_.'

“And I'm the tease,” she grumbled, face burning.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Chat,_

_Careful, you're starting to sound like an average erotica novel._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

And the e-mail was sent, travelling across to the Agreste mansion where she was absolutely certain he was spending his evening at, with the picture Alya had convinced her to take attached to it. She gnawed on her lower lip, pink dusting her cheeks as she wondered about his reaction. Surely, he wouldn't check his e-mail when he wasn't alone (or she hoped so, at least).

-x-

A thick envelope came in the mail on a damp and foggy morning, shocking Marinette who had been ungracefully munching on a burnt slice of toast—her attention span was still heavily focused on the below-average erotica twist her personality had taken—and almost causing her to choke when her parents beamed happily.

Her eyes trailed to the company logo and address in the top corner. “Oh, _oh_ , it's here!”

She excused herself to her room to sort out the details inside. It was a thick package of information, including a small nametag that she immediately clutched onto, admiring her name with the title ' _intern_ ' beside it (they'd acquired her university photograph from her details, so the photograph that was far too bright with one of her eyelids visibly mid-twitch was displayed openly for everyone to see on the tag).

The details were vague, however. She was to report to a higher-up by directions of the receptionist, and then converse with the other interns as there would be an introductory day to begin with, until they would be thrown into the deep end. There was a map of the company, including labels and desk names of the most important people, and an itinerary for interviews to decide where she would be shoved into first. Interns would have the chance to work on the outfits of a new television show, and manage a live fashion show that would take place in early February in a highly populated area of Paris. She pursed her lips at this information; there was no hints or information about the television show—no clues as to what era it would even be set, she noticed—and the fashion show didn't include any themes or names of designers that would be headlining.

“Perhaps it will be Gabriel Agreste,” she murmured. His assistant, Nathalie, had been present when she was selected for the opportunity.

The chimes of her cell phone startled her.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Princess, I'm terribly bored here. The interviewer I was supposed to meet is ten minutes late already._ '

Goodness, he was an early riser. The only reason she was up by the waxing morning sunshine was because her parents were hyperactive with productivity in the morning with their products—they'd taken a small break, even after she was staring wide-awake at her ceiling, just to have breakfast with her. The time was barely past seven o'clock in the morning, and Chat was probably perfectly styled with coiffed hair without bags underneath his eyes.

' _Marinette:  
__That's top secret information that I'm going to leak now._ '

His next message startled her.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Do you know the café which replaced the Thai restaurant—you know, the one that had the scandal last year?_ '

Of course she did. The owners had supposedly been slipping less than expected meats into their food and serving them to the unfortunate costumers, and had caused more than a few bouts of food poisoning. The café that replaced it had opened up recently, just before she went to university for her second year, but she hadn't found the time to visit there (apparently, it had a nice selection of cakes that Rose claimed were _almost_ on par with her parents').

' _Marinette:  
__Yes, I know it. I haven't found the time to visit yet._ '

His reply was almost instantaneous, which surely meant the interviewer still hadn't appeared.

' _Prince Chat:  
__How about you meet me here for your morning coffee? I can get your order when you arrive._ '

She glanced down at her appearance. Her usual pyjamas of a t-shirt and underwear, with a dressing gown slipped on top to be modest in company of her family. The café was ten minutes away on foot, and that definitely didn't include the time she'd need to primp and clean up so she was presentable.

' _Marinette:  
__You're not buying coffee for me, kitty. And I hope you're not tricking me into a candlelit dinner._ '

She shoved on a tight pair of faded jeans, paired with a black t-shirt and a scarlet patterned flannel long-sleeved shirt that she left unbuttoned, and slipped on a comfortable set of dark boots that wouldn't hurt her feet from the ten minute walk. Her trail of thought was that it would be better to appear casual, rather than dress up and waltz into a café in the late-morning sun in a pair of heels to meet her childhood friend for the first time in years.

“He's just Chat,” she tried to convince herself softly in the mirror. The dark strands of her hair were left down, fringe slightly bouncy and refusing to settle down and behave tamely, and brushed below the collar of her shirt. There wasn't much point of coating herself in make-up, she told herself, since her blush would surely be seen through it in the end. So with a dash of faint scarlet on her lips, she slipped her cell phone and wallet into a small rose-coloured bag which hung down by her hip.

When her parents asked where she was off to, Marinette replied that she was meeting across the city with some friends from university, and internally winced at the lie. Her parents, ever trustful, accepted the answer and waved her off with smiles as they manned the pâtisserie together.

The weather had slightly warmed up, though windows were still tinted semi-translucent with the morning dew and Marinette could see her breathe in the air. After turning the street she shivered slightly, regretting the choice to forgo her coat in favour of arriving swiftly and warming up by the café environment. Her cell phone was clutched within her tight grip, palms slightly sweaty, as her heart pounded with in her chest.

This was going to be the moment of truth. She couldn't lie through her teeth, no matter how badly it had been so far, or vague, and was finally going to see him in person without anyone they knew bothering them in the process. When the café came into view, Marinette had to force herself to take deep breaths while leaning against the cool brick wall. There was no point in panicking, was there? The plan was simple: enter, try not to fumble over her words, and somehow blurt out that she really didn't remember their childhood so that's why she had contacted his manager.

The door had a bell that was similar to the tone on her cell phone; she almost mistook the sound for a message until she remembered she was still tightly clutching the phone. She placed it away in her bag quickly, eyes darting around the room to see the occupants.

The café was quaint and homely, she noticed. The colour scheme consisted of healthy browns, oak and wood, and painted cream on walls and on some of the furniture. The signs were large, all written intricately with chalk, and the tables were either booths in the corner that were quite modern, or smaller table towards the front with wooden chairs with cream cushions tied onto them. An old woman was seated near the front, with her weathered hair pulled into a neat bun, while the only other occupant was a male that was tapping away at his cell phone while sipping his coffee from a mug in his other hand.

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she stared across the room. His side profile was familiar, she noticed, as well as the blond strands of hair that were neatly styled. Marinette edged closer to the counter, eyes focused on the male while she pondered the lack of Chat in the room. Perhaps he was finishing his interview elsewhere and wanted to meet at the location after—he hadn't explicitly stated that the interview was in the café, after all.

She strummed her fingers softly on the countertop of the counter, flashing the barista a polite smile. The different concoctions available were beautifully written on the chalkboards were tempting, though she chose to quickly order the first name that caught her eye. Her eyes darted around the empty store, trailing towards the blond that she almost recognised, then back to the front door to see whether Chat had arrived yet. The piping hot beverage arrived a few minutes later, and she stiffened in surprise when the identity of the male finally became clear.

If he hadn't been busy alternating between tapping at his cell phone and reading sheets of paper that he'd produced from his leather bag, it would've been clearer a lot sooner. He lifted his head to gaze around the room, allowing his curious expression to be seen. Marinette almost spilled her coffee in surprise when their eyes met, especially when his lips curled into a small smile. A smile at _her_. Guilt bubbled within her, threatening to spill over, and the urge to apologise was far too strong. This was her only chance to have a private conversation before Chat arrived, and she definitely didn't feel like attempting to awkwardly convey she was sorry with the two of them in the same room. Had he invited his cousin, or were they already meeting and Chat had mentioned it to her without much thought?

She summoned her courage and walked slowly across the room; the soft music floating through the café couldn't calm her nerves with the relaxing rhythm constantly playing. Her free hand clutched nervously on the strap of her bag, while the other held her coffee far too tightly.

“Excuse me,” Marinette called softly to him.

Adrien averted his eyes from his cell phone and greeted her with a small smile. “Hello again,” he said pleasantly.

There was no overly large scarf to hide his identity, nor a knitted hat to cover his golden hair that curled slightly at the ends. The sheer politeness of his expression caught her off guard—didn't he blame her for that night? There was clear recognition in his emerald irides, which were framed with thick eyelashes that the picture in her bedroom at university couldn't capture, and that threw her off. Her expression faltered, eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

“I—I'm sorry for the other night,” Marinette started sincerely, grimacing at the stutter. “I wasn't looking where I was going, and ended up inconveniencing you—”

“Marinette,” he interrupted, a genuine smile stretching across his lips that reached his bright eyes, “do you want to sit down?”

She blinked. “How do you know my name?”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and stared into her equally befuddled eyes for a few moments. He broke contact, removing his bag and dark coat from the chair beside him and gestured to the furniture with clear message. Marinette's thoughts were jumbled, much like her speech, it seemed, while her mouth was slowly opening to say something before she thought better of it.

“Your friend said it the other night,” Adrien said softly, almost inaudibly. That made sense, though. Alya had stuttered her name out when the two of them had met. The fact that he wasn't sour about their encounter, and had even remembered her name, was surely a positive sign. “And I know you from when we were little.”

Well, that wasn't good news. Her conversations with Chat had never mentioned Adrien from what she knew of. There had never been a comment about him from her parents neither, though that may have been because he was the son of a famed designer, so the young blond could have sought refuge inside Chat's home when they were young. It was entirely plausible that they had met, so she had no reason to doubt his words. Another tug on her heartstrings, however, caused the voice inside her head to hiss that she would soon be deceiving both of them with her lies.

“I'm still sorry,” she said softly, running a finger along the top of her mug. “I don't really remember much, so please forgive me.”

“Oh?” Adrien started, taking in the awkward shuffle of her feet. “You can sit down, I won't bite.”

“I—thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline.” Her cheeks warmed as he blinked in surprise. “I'm waiting for someone right now,” the dark-haired female explained, eyes darting to the door once again.

Adrien made a noise of understanding, a low hum. He fiddled with his cell phone momentarily; the screen illuminated for a few seconds before he placed it back within his bag. “I won't keep you waiting, then,” he said, flashing a professionally polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “It was nice seeing you again, Marinette.”

As he stood up, Marinette gnawed on her lower lip. It seemed rude not to converse with further; she'd been honest, mentioning how she didn't remember him, and it seemed only fair to hear his side of the story. “Wait—Adrien,” she called suddenly, hand reaching out to grasp his fabric-clad wrist. “Do you think we could talk in the future? I'd really like to hear about when we were little.”

“It would be my pleasure.” His smile still didn't reach his eyes. The blond shrugged on his dark coat, placed the leather bag strap over his shoulder, before looking at her with mild curiosity and raised eyebrows. “Your friend hasn't stood you up, I hope.”

“Oh, no,” she said with a shake of her head. He wouldn't do that—she was the one most likely to run away, even if he wasn't aware that she had in the past. “He's just caught up with work; he shouldn't be too long.”

He nodded. “Good-bye, Marinette.”

She watched his retreating form with curiosity. If they had been close, even slightly, when they were younger, then he would surely have a few tales to tell when they did get the chance to talk. Her breath hitched when she realised a small problem—they hadn't left any contact details with each other.

“Good job,” she murmured.

After five minutes of waiting on the table next to where Adrien had been, her coffee was room temperature and noon was growing ever closer. Costumers were trailing into the café to order their late-morning beverages, and the room was growing increasingly more populated, but there was no sign of her hazel-eyed friend anywhere. He hadn't specified a time, but over an hour was pushing the limit of her patience. The barista had shot her more than few looks of concern, especially since she hadn't ordered another beverage.

' _Marinette:  
__Are you okay?_ '

The message had been sent to him ten minutes previously, and he hadn't replied. The vibrations of her phone caused her to jump in surprise before glancing at the illuminated screen to see the identity of the caller. ' _Prince Chat_ ', it said in large letters. Marinette gathered her belongings and put her bag over her shoulder, fully intent on leaving from the sheer amount of time that she'd had to wait. She ducked out of the door, answering the call as the cold air kissed her cheeks.

“Chat,” she ground out, irritation clear in her voice.

There was no sound on the other end; not even the robotic voice that had greeted her previously from his lack of signal.

She clucked her tongue in displeasure. “Hey, _Chat_.” It wasn't clear if he'd really intended to call her or not. She reasoned that if it had been accidental, then a few voices would've been audible (or even just the sound of his clothes as he was moving). “Chat!”

Couldn't he make a single noise if he was listening to her grumble?

“Nino!” Marinette hissed, realising that she'd never called him Chat aloud where he could hear her.

He was definitely on the line, though. There was a sharp intake of breath, an audible breath that was definitely not far away from the cell phone, before the clear high-pitched noise sounded that indicated that the call was over. Marinette stared at her cell phone incredulously, wondering just _why_ he'd done that. Not only had she been stood up—as he hadn't uttered a single excuse, no matter how busy he was—but he had fully intended on calling her, and then promptly hung up.

This was the poor form of the man that was constantly tugging on her heartstrings, and she couldn't think anything other than that it was karma.

“I was going to tell him,” she muttered, hand clenched into a fist, “and I didn't even get the chance.”

The chiming of bells interrupted her trail of thought.

' _Prince Chat:  
__Busy with work still, sorry, Mari. I tried to call but my manager caught me—I'll explain later._ '

She sighed. “I'm such a drama queen.”

 _PREVIEW:_ ' _It's unwise to fool around while trying to court someone, is it not?_ '


	6. 06

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Manon will be really hot when she's older.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

The victim of the accident on the light reveal night still hadn't woken up. Rose had stubbornly insisted on trying to visit the hospital daily, though the nurses usually turned her away. She'd managed to make it into the man's room once—out of the many times she'd visited, sometimes even multiple a day—though he was hooked up to machines, so their constant noises announcing that the male was still alive were her only company. The blonde kept them her and Alya updated every night, listing any new occurrences within the hospital.

There was no doubt in Marinette's mind that her usually spunky small friend was creating a scrapbook for the male; for when he woke up, so he knew everything that was going on. Rose had papercuts covering hands the one evening they met up, before she announced visiting hours would be open soon. Juleka had remarked that the male was able to get Rose up early in the mornings—even more so than her usual internal clock—and kept her time occupied.

There was no identification for the man, however. Rose was toying with different names, asking her friends whether they suited him before moving onto next. Accompanying the scrapbook that was disguised as a moleskin sketchbook, Rose also carried a small notepad to jot her thoughts on. She left both books in a small drawer beside his bed every night, just in case he woke up. With every evening that past, Rose drew another star onto the cast on her arm, marking the nights that he was missing.

Marinette was crossing the streets briskly, wrapped up warmly in winter attire and flushed cheeks. She'd taken to running errands for her parents to pass the time, as she'd be returning to university that weekend. The nerves of her upcoming internship on Fridays and half or more of the weekend were starting to affect her performance within the pâtisserie. She'd tripped over, _into_ , and pushed off more products in the last few days that she'd thought possible. The breaking point had been when she'd spluttered incoherently and her eyes burnt with hot tears of frustration from ruining a cake that had been specifically ordered one afternoon. Her parents had soothed her, and managed to re-produce the specific design, but that didn't calm her worries.

She tried to tell herself that it was the nerves trying to sabotage her performance before the time came, but it became glaringly obvious that she was lying to herself.

Chat's last message had been abrupt.

' _Prince Chat:_  
 _I'll be travelling for a few days. We'll talk next week, princess._ '

And that's all he'd said. Marinette breathed a frustrated sigh and shoved her cell phone into her bag once again, attention directed fully to navigating through the supermarket for the specific ingredients she needed to buy.

Alya was insisting they went out for New Year's. There were many nightclubs that she wanted to visit, but it was always a chore to drag her along with them. Marinette was never too fond of the loud, thumping music and the stuffy sweat-filled air within clubs; Rose wasn't fond of small pubs, so Alya compromised with the parties that Aurore or other close friends threw every now and then. The previous year Marinette had fallen ill, so there had been no argument about whether she was going out with them to celebrate the oncoming year.

Other than running errands for the pâtisserie, Marinette had made use of the fabrics and different materials she had left in her room. She'd, begrudgingly, made several versions of lingerie that were framed with colourful lace and tiny, sweet ribbons that caught attention well. She was rather proud of them; they were updated versions of the ones she'd made for herself previously.

When the time came around for the evening sky to dim, and the tiny lights scattered around the city to light up, Marinette was curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her. Her parents were primping; or, rather, her mother was adjusting her father's outfit with a fond smile while he grinned right back at her. They were leaving for the evening, attending a high-class party with Alya's mother and other friends that she didn't particularly remember.

Her smile was genuine when they asked her opinion on their outfits. “You two look great.”

Soon they were sent off with a hearty wave, and Marinette was flicking through the television channels. Alya had managed to drag Rose and Juleka out with her that evening, meaning one form of her entertainment was pictures sent from either three of them.

As usual on the token gossip channels on television, there was a presenter attempting to interview different celebrities as they waltzed into a high-end club. She recognised a few of the faces that were walking past, except the newer individuals that had risen to fame lately. She stiffened when she spotted a familiar face—tanned skin, hazel eyes framed with thick spectacles, dressed in a suave suit with a few buttons undone on his dark navy shirt.

“Travelling, my ass,” she muttered under her breath, turning the television off with a sigh.

There was still an hour or so until midnight, but she couldn't work up the motivation to meet her friends outside. Chat had his own life, she told herself, even if he had gone out of his way to talk to her at some events. He had previously disappeared for work; he was a busy man, and she needed to remind herself that he held no obligations to her.

That wasn't the point, though. “It would've been nice to hear from him.”

His e-mail had been untouched after the café incident. She'd wanted to hear from him properly, to converse about just _why_ he'd been held up, before her emotions went upside down from his teasing words.

She soon found herself nursing a bottle of wine that her parents had left for her, clad in pyjamas and the knitted blanket that she was always very fond of. Marinette stumbled up her staircase, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders much like a cape, and laughed at herself from almost tripping over. The glass made it up fine, much like her bottle of wine, so she seated herself and began to twirl for amusement on her desk chair while wondering how it had come to this.

“Aurore would kill me.” Marinette laughed. The blonde had called her a few times in the last few days, insisting that Marinette stayed at her large house for a few days, just so she could drag her out for the New Year's party that she was attending (one where Chloé was sure to be attending, too). She'd respectfully declined, asking Aurore to take her royalty elsewhere, and then teased her from hearing that the blonde had received a few gifts from admirers for Christmas.

Three quarters of the bottle was gone by the time midnight had almost appeared. Marinette stretched her arms, sighing loudly at the feeling of her muscles moving once again. She'd amused herself by browsing websites, but loading social media had simply caused her mood to sour once again. There were fan-taken pictures of _Nino_ —she needed to refer to them differently, for her own mental health—that Rose was gushing over, even though she was busy at a damn nightclub that evening.

She loaded her e-mail begrudgingly.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Marinette,_

_You and I in any kind of erotic context is a dream come true; even if you think it's only average (I doubt you can class my dreams as average, though). I can't begin to explain my thoughts from your picture—how about I mention that the lotion I use is considerably emptier than it should be?_

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

She huffed. “Oh, fuck you.”

He was infuriating. Chat was out there frolicking, while she was cooped up inside nursing a bottle of alcohol that was almost drained—and he had the audacity to flirt with her? Granted, the e-mail was dated back before the disaster of a date they'd arranged, but the mere mention of where his wandering hands had disappeared had her pulse spiking.

“Not a date,” she corrected herself sourly.

She'd conversed with Adrien more than Chat, and that was simply depressing to think about.

She found herself tapping away at the screen of her cell phone, the letters forming an irritated message before she could think of the consequences. It was short, and straight to the point, but when she was about to select the send button the tell-tale sound of bells chiming sounded. Even though she'd deny it in the future, Marinette shrieked in surprise and dropped her cell phone in surprise. The message was quickly cancelled and scrapped, and when she saw who exactly the message was from, Marinette drained the rest of her bottle with a befuddled expression.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I wish I could kiss you right now._ '

It was midnight. His message was right on time, as if planned.

“I'm annoyed at you,” she announced softy.

' _Marinette:  
_ _The feeling is mutual_.'

Her message was more coherent than her thoughts—she was proud, actually, that it wasn't obvious that all the alcohol was missing from the bottle of wine she'd had in her company that evening.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Are you sharing your affections with someone else tonight?_ '

Marinette spluttered incredulously.

' _Marinette:  
_ _That's one way to ask if I'm fucking anyone._ _Aren't you supposed to be travelling, Chat?_ '

The message clearly conveyed her irritation, and she was sure in the morning, while nursing a headache that she truly deserved, the words that she'd sent would cause her to flush in embarrassment. It was blunt, rude, and she was _proud_ at that moment.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I'm hiding so no one man-handles me at midnight right now. Sorry for the abrupt departure, princess, but I arrived back early this evening. I thought I'd surprise you._ '

He wanted to surprise her, did he? “Mission accomplished,” she murmured, lips searching or any remaining drops of alcohol left in her glass hungrily. She groaned aloud when none appeared, “No!”

' _Marinette:  
_ _Are you saving yourself for marriage, kitty? That doesn't seem very wise._ '

A sarcastic remark so she didn't have to acknowledge the jealous thoughts swirling in her mind; imagining the different females dressed in expensive clothing, draped across him with predatory smiles. With a groan, Marinette pinched her arm to stop the scowl spreading across her lips.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _It's unwise to fool around while trying to court someone, is it not?_ '

Loud, undignified and honest laughter spilled from her lips. The words were absurd to read, and combined with her intoxicated state they had caused her to laugh continuously, spilling forth the unwanted feelings of sadness and guilt. Chat didn't deserve her bitterness—he was honest as he could be, and straight forward with his feelings. Perhaps she could channel her inner Chat—she snorted at the thought; the only inner of her he'd be involved in was certainly not in her mind—and be blunt with him.

“Fuck it,” she swore.

' _Marinette:  
_ _All right, be honest here. What am I to you?_ '

The cell phone was clutched tightly in her waiting hands.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You're everything to me._ '

“Goodness,” Marinette moaned, roughly pushing the tresses of her dark hair from her heated forehead, “he's so fucking _charming_.” Was it even possible for a male to be that quick-witted, charming and able to respond so quickly? It was obvious he hadn't had to mull over his words before picking the correct ones. It seemed as though he just poured his thoughts out in their messages, not worrying about the consequences.

His words caused her heart to clench. She wanted to believe it; to trust him, to reciprocate the feelings and tell him exactly which body parts he'd caused to tingle with his suave words, but the guilt built up and her walls came crumbling down. Marinette furiously blinked away the hot tears blurring her vision, willing them to disappear so she could have a moment of peace. Her breaths came quickly, unsteady, and loudly while she fumbled trying to see the illuminated cell phone through her condition.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I have something important to tell you. Is there any chance we could meet soon?_ '

Auto-correct was a blessing, Marinette decided. Even with her blurry eyes and equally unstable thoughts, her message appeared perfectly sober to an outsider.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I'll be busy with filming starting tomorrow. You could write an e-mail if texting isn't okay._ _No matter what is, it won't change how I feel, princess._ '

“Fuck.”

She left her reply to his e-mail blank, unsure of her feelings and how she'd format a response while in such turmoil.

-x-

Marinette sucked in deeps breaths, her fist raised to knock against a red-stained oak door in the neighbouring street. The various clay pots on the outside were familiar, though most of the scenery had wilted for the winter, or disappeared from neglect over the years. Apart from the lack of blooming flowers that filled the air with different scents and constant pollen that tainted her clothing, the front of the house was oddly the same. There was still the same stain on the cement, the welcome mat that was worn with age hadn't moved a foot, and she was absolutely sure if she lifted the dot-patterned pot that had cacti within, there would be a key underneath for easy access.

The home was charming, sweet, and eternal. There was distinctive shuffling on the other side of the blurry screen of glass after she knocked three times. The male that appeared was unfamiliar; bulky, middle-aged with a thick head of black hair and narrow eyes. From the pristine uniform—a shirt and slacks, very standard—she assumed it was one of the carers that frequented the home as of late.

He ushered her in, indicating to take off her flat shoes at the doorway, and directed her throughout the small bungalow that had the same interior design as all those years ago. Mister Fu's heritage shined brightly in his home; various objects, designs, and patterns associated with his Asian homeland were displayed proudly. Sabine used to gush over his décor during their visits, and enjoyed drinking traditional tea with the old man in their spare time; he was one of the few that shared her heritage, that she was friendly with, in Paris.

Mister Fu had aged well, despite his derogatory nickname that younger children had slapped onto him. His head was still full of black hair that had silver streaks running through it, as highlights rather than the flat colour, and the wrinkles complimented his kind face, crinkles in the corner of his eyes, thick laugh lines around his mouth which greeted her with a wide smile.

“Marinette,” he greeted softly. There was nothing wrong with his chest. The cough he hacked was quiet and dry, a non-worrying sound that she'd been fretting about while dancing around in front of his home. She wasn't sure how to react if he was deathly ill, especially since her reasons for seeing him, after such a long time, were purely selfish. “One moment.” He reached across with a shaky hand to the small table, retrieving a worn pair of glasses that had hazel-coloured frames—that matched his irides—and large lenses that were far too big for his shrunken eyes.

She schooled her nervous expression. “Hello.”

“It's good to see you,” Mister Fu said sincerely.

It was good to see him, too. Marinette nodded in reply, eyes trailing around the room to take in her surroundings. The carer had asked if the older male needed anything and then retreated into the kitchen to make tea for the two of them, saying that if they needed anything she simply needed to call loudly and he'd come running. It was rather strange for his words to be kind and considerate, while the carer's expression was stoic and portrayed no concerns.

Mister Fu still had the same taste in fashion; adorably awful. He was always clad in a brightly-coloured shirt with some sort of obnoxious pattern, and trousers or long shorts that certainly didn't match, but they fit his needs just fine. That day his shirt was a soft lemon with luminescent tropical tree patterns intricately stitched into the material, and he had long jeans that were hacked off at the bottom, leaving his ankles exposed to the breeze. The large, overly fluffy cotton slippers were the best part of his ensemble.

“What's brought you back here, then?” he asked lightly, fingers jokingly running along his weathered jaw with thought. The facial hair that adorned his face was much like his hair—ebony with gray streaks—and covered his upper lip and chin slightly in a neat pattern. “I hope your health is well.”

“Yes, sir.” The polite word had slipped through her lips without much thought. Mister Fu quirked his eyebrows in surprise, wrinkling his nose in dislike. “Sorry, I forgot about that,” she said with a laugh. He had always insisted she spoke to him as a friend, and she'd been so terribly polite after her accident; a fail-safe just in case she accidentally offended the wrong person. “I was wondering if I could show you a picture and see if you recognise anyone in it.”

He blinked. “I'm not much of a detective, Marinette. Not these days—suspects would hop away from me faster than I could crawl in their direction.”

It was suspiring to hear him talk about his weaknesses with such ease. Despite how uncomfortable she suddenly felt, Marinette let out a shaky laugh. “It's all right, there was no crime committed.”

With the signal to continue from a shake of his wrinkled hand—that had a large watch hat was far too big for his wrist—Marinette fished out her cell phone and scrolled through the contents for the picture of her with Plagg and Tikki in her arms. He accepted the cell phone with keen interest, kind eyes flickering between the screen and her forcefully blank expression. After a good ten seconds of silence, where the only sound was the ticking of a grandfather clock that he had in the living room, Mister Fu let out a loud breath.

“That took you some time,” he commented, returning the device back to her. “This would've been easier years ago, but I suppose you weren't feeling up to it. But, no worries, Marinette, it'll just take some time.”

She furrowed her brows. “So you do recognise her, then.”

“Of course I do, child—she's hiding in the other room right now.”

Marzipan was definitely not male, and most certainly called Tikki, then. She supposed the old male had named her after taking her in—but when was that? “Did you take her in?” Marinette blurted. She schooled her expression, taking a shaky breath. “I never took her home, or told my parents, so I was unsure where she wandered to.”

“She didn't wander anywhere,” he corrected with amusement. “You knocked on my door, covered in dirt, and asked if I'd like company for the evening. I assumed that you meant yourself, so I said yes, of course. Next thing I knew there was a kitten in my arms and you were thanking me, over and over.”

Goodness, she was forceful as a child. Marinette absorbed the information with bewilderment. “I thought she was a boy when I found out,” she said, “I've wondered for years who Marzi was, but I came to the conclusion it was the cat—Marzi for Marzipan.”

His kind hazel eyes were focused on the doorway to the kitchen. “Yes, you tried to insist on that name. I'm very indifferent to that treat, though, so her name was changed as soon as I realised how wrong you were about the gender.”

“It would be slightly strange to call for Marzipan when she's outside,” she replied, stifling a laugh.

Their conversation dulled, the ticking of the clock filling in the gaps of their speech. Marinette shuffled, awkwardly adjusting her stance, while the aged male simply tapped his worn out fingers and stared at her with narrowed eyes; suspicion was clear in his expression at that moment. She cleared her throat self-consciously, making sure to keep eye contact so he could feel her sincerity.

“Last week,” she began, cheeks reddening at the voice crack, “my mother identified Tikki from a picture I recently received. I'm just… I'm very confused right now, Mister Fu.” His expression softened. “I frequently visited your home, but I never saw any signs that you had a pet.”

“Tikki is a sweet girl,” he murmured thoughtfully. “She's much like you, actually—just painfully cautious and doesn't trust easily.”

His expression was still guarded, but he was offering information; tiny, precious pieces of information that she absorbed without hesitation. “Has she always been like that?”

Mister Fu shook his head with closed eyes. “No. Once upon a time, she was a hyperactive kitten that loved to make friends. She'd jump on and greet anyone that waltzed through my door, and ran outside at any chance, especially if she heard you coming to visit.”

“So I visited her.”

“Whenever you could,” he said with a nod. “You mentioned a boy—I never quite caught his name—that always wanted to visit, but his parents didn't allow him outside often. You took pictures of Tikki to show him.”

Chat, she realised. Marinette choked slightly on her breath, the tell-tale signs of liquid brimming on her burning eyes. She blinked furiously, determined not to have a breakdown when the titbits of their conversation consisted of exactly what she'd been craving for so long. The aged male watched her conflicting emotions with uncertainty, mouth opening and closing a few times without making a noise.

“He was my best friend,” she choked out. “He moved away and we lost contact… I—we started talking a few months ago.”

He hummed. “He's asking about Tikki.”

“He's the owner of Plagg, the other kitten in the photo,” she answered honestly, grip tightening on her clothes. “He… I haven't told him about my accident.”

“Oh,” Mister Fu sighed, realisation sinking in, “you foolish girl.”

Their conversation continued without any tears falling from her blurry eyes. There was cat food tucked away in the kitchen, and bowls carefully placed in a secluded corner where she would feel comfortable. He explained that her bed and other such things were tucked away in his bedroom, where she had never ventured to since there had been no purpose, and that she shied away from strangers nowadays. Marinette had asked with concern whether it had been a recent development, and his reply had been a weary sigh. Rather than asking her to help his frail body up, or call the carer in, he waved a hand towards his bedroom and asked her to see for herself.

“Be slow,” he warned, “and do not approach her first.”

The words didn't fit the feline that had been described to her initially, nor the one that had been blissfully happy curled up in her young arms. She tentatively slid the door open, thankful that the material didn't create an ear-piercing noise, and took in the contents of his bedroom. The design was simple; traditionally Asian, lacking a mattress with only a bedside table with a small lamp on it. There were a few decorations on the wall. A deep scarlet bed, roughly the size of a regular pillow, was placed beside the bedside table with a few scattered toys surrounding it. There was a small wooden box situated next to it that had a red cord falling out (most definitely where her toys were kept).

It took her some time to locate the feline. Tikki was hiding behind the table, though it was clear that she wasn't as large as a normal cat. She was below-average, a tiny thing with neatly combed short hairs which were the exact shade as when she was younger. The expression when she peeked beside the wooden leg mirrored Marinette's; cautious, wary and shocked with dilated eyes.

There was one detail that caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably. Tikki had aged well, with the utmost care, though her demeanour was cautious and guarded. Marinette gulped, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. The feline was missing her tail; only a stub of coarse honey-coloured hair was there at the end.

Mister Fu never answered her questions of what had happened. He insisted that it wasn't the right time to tell her, which frustrated her to no end. Within the few days remaining before she returned to university, Marinette frequently visited him, much to his and her parents' surprise. Her stubborn personality was shining through, though she was careful to be cautious around the feline. Tikki hadn't made any move to come closer despite the dark-haired female's many attempts, and that had caused her to whine in frustration the first evening. The old man had tried to give her advice, and even suggested simply coming back another day, but she'd refused with a firm frown on her lips. She returned the second morning, right when the carer was helping him with his hygiene, with the cat bed that Chat had sent her tucked carefully under her arm. He had raised his eyebrows at the addition to his living room—she'd opted to place it there rather than have two in his bedroom—and didn't comment on her attempting to coax Tikki throughout the house.

The most she got before leaving was hearing her hiss once. Marinette had been slowly edging towards her, and had clearly pushed her luck.

The bus stop that would take her where she needed to go with her suitcase was past Mister Fu's house. Alya and Rose were meeting her for the journey at a later time, so she spent the remaining moments of her time in her childhood neighbourhood making ridiculous noises at a honey-coloured feline who didn't look very amused (unlike Mister Fu, who chuckled at her frequent attempts).

-x-

“It's so good to be back!” Rose cheered, dancing right through their front door with a spring in her step. She grinned happily at the poster of _Nino_ , confidence flowing through her being as she kissed her fingertips that placed it on his still lips.

Marinette froze in the doorway, unsure of the conflicting feeling flowing through her. It wasn't anything new—Rose had done such things before, and had even attempted to kiss him senseless with her lips while intoxicated once, but rational thinking wasn't helping her trail of thought. She gulped, trying to wash away the unhealthy feeling of irritation, and swallowing the venom-dipped words that wanted to escape her lips. So _what_ if someone was kissing a still picture of him? Many fans had posters of him plastered on their walls, and they certainly participated in the same activity as Rose when they were on that level of infatuation, but it wasn't sitting well in her stomach.

“Don't,” she choked out.

The blonde blinked in surprise, hands once again clutching her suitcase, while her expression contorted. “Pardon?”

“Please, don't do that.” She took a deep breath, flinching as Alya placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “He's not a toy to mess around with. I've been silent for so long, but it's—I—just _no_ ,” Marinette spluttered, aware that her face was beginning to heat up in embarrassment. “He's my friend; I don't want to see him treated like that!”

The bag in Rose's bag tumbled to the floor and her eyes began to well with tears. Frustration was clear on her expression, mirroring Marinette's, but the guilt began to build as the blonde's chin trembled as she tried to keep her tears at bay.

Marinette sighed. “Rose—”

Rose didn't stay to hear her words. The blonde ran as her tears began to flow freely, retreating straight into her room leaving Marinette with a hovering friend who's eyebrows were pulled together in confusion.

Alya squeezed her shoulder. “I understand how you feel,” she started softly, “but that wasn't any way to go about it. You know how sensitive Rose is right now—goodness, her arm is even earning her sympathy with bus drivers, but she's really cut up inside about the accident.”

“I'm sorry,” she chanted softly, though the words were meant for the sobbing girl locked inside her room. “I… I don't know why I blew up.”

“Apologise later,” the red-head chastised, picking up the fallen bag and placing it by the correct door.

Marinette trudged along after her, dropping her own bag by her door before venturing into the kitchen together. They exchanged small pleasantries while slicing and dicing the required ingredients for the dinner the red-head had planned, while Marinette worked on the side on a small dessert full of apologies which would be paired with her large, overly pouty sad eyes. There was only one small section in their oven, so they had to plan perfectly to coordinate their cooking times. Marinette tapped on the kitchen counter, smiling absent-mindedly at the constant, comforting hum Alya was producing with enthusiasm.

“What song is that?” Marinette asked, chin resting upon her open palm. “I don't recognise it, but it's very catchy. Is it something new on the radio?” Alya preferred to listen to the radio while she was working, though she switched between channels far too often that it annoyed the other two to no end—they banned her from using anything but playlists at their gatherings, and while they were cooking together.

“Oh.” Alya stilled. “No, it's not…”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're acting suspicious,” Marinette said in a hushed tone, sliding her feet along their floor loudly and bumped her hip into her friend's. “Spill and I'll tell you something pretty great.”

Alya had a cat before she moved in as her next door neighbour. She'd been itching to tell her friends about the sudden development, and even ask her help as the Internet wasn't providing efficient answers, but the right moment hadn't popped up; or, rather, she hadn't created the appropriate moment to enquire.

“We—oh, fuck it,” Alya blurted without tact, “it's a song that Nino mixed.” Oh, yes, _Nino_. The Nino she thought she was talking to—the imposter, poser, and the man (hopefully), that had ensnared her friend's feisty heart and caused her to flush like a little girl at the mere mention of him when they were alone. Marinette pursed her lips, unsure of how to respond. Alya saved her the worry by continuing to say, “He sent me a sample the other day, and it's been stuck in my head since.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement. “You two are getting pretty close, then.”

Surprisingly, Alya smirked and raised her eyebrows. “I guess you could say that.”

“You _didn't_.” Marinette gaped, and her reaction only caused the red-head's smirk to grow wider and more pronounced. “Please, just say you didn't send any nudes to him yet!”

Alya _winked_.

“No!” Marinette whacked her shoulder in disapproval. “This is moving too fast for you!”

“Okay, mother,” Alya chortled. “I'm a big girl, Mari, I can make my own decisions.” At Marinette's incredulous expression, she added, “Even if those decisions are naughty. Speaking of naughty, did your boy like that picture of you?”

The mention of her Chat caused her to stiffen and look at her friend's large grin with wide eyes. What was she supposed to say—he loved it, stood her up, and said he was _wooing_ her? Goodness, their relationship was frustrating to end. He hadn't messaged her by any means after the dismissal previously, and that didn't help the gnawing guilt in her stomach. Chat couldn't devote all of his time to her, and their confusing budding relationship that she wasn't quite sure how to explain, but a few words between his busy schedule would have cheered her up immensely.

“Yes, he did,” she said with averted eyes. Alya laughed aloud, a happy sound, before noticing the conflicted emotions on Marinette's face.

The red-head bumped her hip. “Hey,” Alya murmured, “what happened? I'm the best agony aunt you'll find out here—Aurore's not back until tomorrow, so there's no alcohol to get you to confess faster.”

Marinette let out a breathy laugh. “I was going to tell him about me, you know?”

“Past tense.”

She averted her eyes from Alya's kind expression, trying to hide the guilt in her eyes from secretly talking about the male her friend thought she was in love with. “He didn't show up. Apparently, he got held up at work, so I waited around for more than necessary. I ended up meeting someone else that knew me when I was younger.” It wasn't a lie—Adrien had even stated that they had been friends of sorts. “I didn't tell him the details, but it was just so _awkward_ when I said I didn't remember him.”

“So use him,” Alya blurted. Marinette looked positively baffled. “Not the first guy—whatever you call him—but the other friend that you met. You're not romantically interested in him, are you?” She shook her head. He was just a stranger. “Then use him as practise. Be friendly and admit what happened, just to practice what you'll say to the real guy.”

“That's pretty cruel.” And not to mention a bad idea. Anything she mentioned to Adrien, it was possible that it would funnel back to the one person she didn't want the information to go to yet. “I can't do that to him, Alya, and we actually forgot to exchange information at all.”

The red-head flicked Marinette's forehead, clucking her tongue in mock disappointment. “You're a terrible schemer,” she teased, “but I still love you. Let's get back to guy number one—what the fuck did you call him?”

“Chat.” Her cheeks warmed. “It's just his name online, and it kind of stuck. I don't really want you two to find out who he is yet, or you'll try and invite him round while I'm asleep or something. I _really_ don't trust you.”

Alya snorted. “Okay, Chat. Why past tense for telling him? So what if you've hedged around questions, it's not as though you've made up stories and hoped they stuck.”

“Well, I'm not a complete fool.” Marinette scoffed. “He hasn't contacted me since New Year's, though. Busy with work or something else when I said I needed to tell him something in person.”

Alya made a show of stroking her chin slowly and making strange noises in the process. “Has he sent you a picture of himself?”

“No.” He'd only sent pictures of Plagg, or of Marinette when they were younger.

The red-head suddenly jumped, clicking her fingers as the realisation came clear to her. “Oh, _oh_!” she chanted, pointing at her bewildered friend's face. “He's fat!” Marinette wasted no time before whacking her friend forcefully on the side of her head, ignoring the exaggerated pout she donned afterwards. “Fine, maybe he's just shy? Riddle me this, Marinette, but were the two of you friends with that other guy? You know, Mister B you met when _Chat_ ,” she said, emphasising his name with waggled eyebrows, “didn't show up?”

Mister B didn't seem a very suitable name for Adrien; he was Mister A—the first dream choice—for more than enough of the population that were interested in magazines and models in general. “Yes?”

“There you fucking have it!” Alya announced, clicking her fingers on both hands to emphasise her point. “He was there to _see_ you and report back.”

The idea was completely ridiculous. “Fuck off,” Marinette stuttered, trying to contain her laughter. The two of them chortled at each other's expressions for a few minutes, before her lunges began to hurt and their faces were stained with colour. “That's one of the worst ideas you've had yet. Why on Earth would he send A—” Marinette slammed her lips shut, wide-eyed and wondering whether Alya had caught the slip.

“A…” Alya prompted, shooing the dark-haired female out of the way of the oven.

“ _Mister B_ ,” she emphasised, “was not there to spy on me, Alya.” But as she said that, a memory began to flicker. The two times that she was supposed to meet Chat, at the light reveal and the café, she'd ended up bumping into or spotting Adrien rather than him. It was understandable that the two of them would end up at the same event, and perhaps café if they had arrived together, but the fact that a certain hazel-eyed man had been missing the two times she was supposed to meet him was suspicious. Why would he do that? The cousins both had a large amount of fans and supports, so arguing that Adrien was able to go out in public without much trouble was a lie; the light reveal had shown that when the article came out in the early morning.

Alya hummed, focusing on plating food. “Take this to Rose, will you?”

Marinette frowned. “She's just going to slam the door on my face. Full diva mode and all.”

“Trust me. This is her favourite here, so you'll earn some brownie points, and then mention the dessert as well to butter her up.”

-x-

It was the middle of the week and things were progressing well. The start of classes was dull and rather slow, but the professors had stepped up and were returning their results from the previous term slowly. Marinette exchanged large smiles with her classmates when they shared similar success. A lot congratulated her on the competition win, though there were a few muttered remarks that she was going to fail gloriously and fall into the bottom end of exam results the next time around. She prided herself on her consistent test scores, and the fact that she'd never missed a deadline since she'd been enrolled. Rose had forgiven her for the outburst previously, and had even apologised herself for not thinking of how it would look to others; or, rather, to Marinette as the opinions of strangers didn't matter to her. The blonde surprised her further by removing the poster by their front door, and tucked it safely inside of her bedroom instead, where she could place indirect hand kisses on his laminated face in peace.

There was one glaring feature missing from her day, though. Nathaniel was still missing from classes, and the professor insisted it was personal matters and that he'd handed in all the appropriate exams and that his grades were still above-average. She sent him a quick message on her cell phone, asking whether he was ill and if she should expect him in class any time soon.

She was a mess of nerves Thursday evening. Marinette was holed up in the kitchen with her flat-mates, sharing a large multi-coloured knitted blanket (that Rose had made when she'd dabbled in knitting for a few months before getting bored of losing her needles), nibbling upon biscuits that the blonde had colourfully decorated with far too many sprinkles.

“It flickered!” Rose cheered, insisting that the black screen of her laptop wasn't just an abyss lacking colour. “It's going to start any moment!”

And it really did. _Nino_ ' _s_ face flickered on the screen, a radiant smile was very white teeth visible while he adjusted his camera up close, and fiddled with the equipment. He had mentioned earlier that evening that he'd host another webcast for his fans, and announce some _more_ exciting news for the upcoming weeks.

“Hey, guys,” Nino greeted. He grimaced at the voice crack, and cleared his throat several before repeating himself. “Thanks for tuning in—and if you're coming late, you'll be pretty confused, I guess.” He was in very casual clothes. When he stood up to retreat back to the leather sofa in his living room, a full view of his attire was visible; faded jeans that were still tight, and a long-sleeved navy t-shirt that contrasted nicely with his tanned skin, while his hair was full of wild ringlets that had grown slightly, and his eyes were obstructed by the wide-rim glasses he was ever-so-fond of. “Adrien's here as well, but he's being a fucking _turtle_ ,” he yelled, eyes flickering to the right grumpily, “and taking his sweet time.”

It was strange, though, Marinette thought with knitted eyebrows. She still felt no physical attraction while looking at the man on the screen; he was simply someone far away, and she couldn't connect his appearance to the Chat she constantly conversed with. They seemed like two entirely different people until she had confirmation that they were one and the same; as in, him reacting much like she imagined the Chat of her mind would in person.

Two different people—one held her fragile, confused heart in his open palm, while the other wore a mask which was unfamiliar.

“While we wait for _Your Majesty_ to get his ass down here,” he yelled the title again, “I'll answer some questions online, but the only requirement is that everything must be spelled correctly. And I mean _everything_.” Nino grinned mischievously.

Rose moved the blanket off of them immediately, reaching for her cell phone so they didn't have to minimise the webcast. Alya, surprisingly, joined in and sent a question. The red-head raised her eyes and caught Marinette's gaze and shook her head, eyes darting between the screen and the smaller female in the middle of them—the message was clear: don't tell Rose that Alya thinks she's sending dirty messages, and pictures, to Nino.

“Send one, too, Mari,” Rose encouraged, retrieving the dark-haired female's cell phone in a blink of an eye. “You know you want to.”

And so, she did.

Nino pulled out his cell phone from his pocket, proudly showing the camera the new make and model that he had, and announced, “I'll pick one from this chat first, and then different social medias after. If princess hasn't come down yet, I'll answer some more.”

Princess.

 _Princess_.

There wasn't a pang of jealousy. She had doubts that the name was only reserved for her, but this wasn't a good example of when he'd use the name for others. It was his cousin, after all, a male one at that. Perhaps it was a taunt that Adrien wasn't too fond of—another coincidence. Maybe Adrien had been present when she was called it in her younger years, and hadn't liked the sound of it. Had Adrien called her it, too? Goodness, that was strange to imagine. She hadn't seen many pictures of when Adrien was young—even though he'd been born into success and modelled to an adequate level since he was able to walk—so trying to imagine a tiny blonde calling her a princess caused her to snort in amusement.

“My songs?” Nino asked, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I usually just mix a few together to a nice beat; I'm not good at playing any instruments, or singing. All that talent went to Adrien over there.”

Footsteps could be heard. Nino grinned, dropping his cell phone onto the sofa as he stood up and embraced his cousin dramatically. Adrien audibly sighed and patted him on the back mockingly, before pushing him down to be seated once again. The model straightened his clothes—tan trousers and a white long-sleeved shirt that had two buttons undone—before taking a seat beside him with a visible frown upon his lips.

“I didn't really want that kind of information out there, Nino,” he admonished, “you've seen the kind of messages I get as it is.”

“Now they can mention your long and perfect piano fingers.”

Adrien rolled his eyes fondly, chuckling. The sound was pleasant, and the microphone was able to pick up even the quiet noises between them. Nino explained to his cousin that his original plan was to answer questions until he decided to grace the viewers with his presence—which earned him another fond slap and made Nino laugh manically—and that he was going to answer a least three before they moved onto their desired topic. Hopefully there really was a good reason to his busy schedule. Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, well aware that Rose and Alya had matching eager expressions as they watched the two on the screen, while conflicting emotions flickered over hers. This was the man that had proclaimed she was everything to him, and no matter how serious that answer had been, their conversations had taken a turn that certainly weren't considered casual any longer.

“All right! First question is going to be from chat… Adrien, you can pick a random one and ask. I don't really care who they're directed to. The only rule is that everything has to be spelled correctly.” Nino flashed a large, cheesy smile that caused Adrien to snort quietly at.

“It's too much effort for you to pick one yourself, of course,” the blond muttered in good humour, laughing aloud at the mocking pout Nino pulled in response. He searched through the selected cell phone, eyebrows dancing underneath his perfectly coiffed golden hair, most likely from the absurdity of the questions. “This one seems quite fun, and it's for both of us. How do we feel when we see fans—that don't know us personally—kissing posters of us?”

Nino blinked in surprise, unsure of how to answer. He took a few moments to mull in silence, tanned fingers running through his thick curls in the meantime. Adrien was simply staring at the cell phone, a wry smile appearing on his lips that he repeatedly tried to banish.

“That's my question.”

The voice speaking broke Marinette out of her daze. She stared at the blonde next to her, incredulous. It was only the other day that she had accidentally told her off for such actions, so to have her actively seeking the answers to the celebrity's feelings on such acts was surprising. Rose kept her eyes trained on the laptop, though there was a small smile tugging upon her lips.

“I mean…” Nino cleared his throat. “I'm flattered, but isn't it pretty likely that someone will catch a cold, or something else, from doing that? Posters are kind of dirty most of the time, so it's not the best idea.”

It was a backwards way of saying that he wasn't too fond of it. Nino shuffled on the sofa, scooting along the leather cushion until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with the blonde who shot him a look of amusement.

“Pretty much that,” Adrien agreed, his lips curling into a familiar smile. “Posters aren't going to kiss you back. As Nino said, an illness is more likely than the former.”

His response was slightly blunter, but still masked their displeasure.

Rose found amusement in their answers, though. She laughed quietly at first, before accidentally snorting which caused the three of them to enter fits of laughter that was loud and genuine, with tears forming in their eyes. Rose's infamous snorts were a blessing from Heaven in Marinette's eyes; they came randomly, but were always appreciated. “Smart people will wipe the posters first,” she managed to say, “or regularly clean them. We're not all thirteen-year-olds.”

“All right, genius,” Alya replied with a laugh.

“Oh, right.” Adrien looked sheepish. “That was from Rose with many numbers that I can't find to repeat them again.”

The next question they picked was from a social media site. The username was unknown to them, but the question was one that caused both Alya and Marinette to stiffen on instinct. “Do you two have anyone special to you right now?” Nino read. “And I mean romantically, so you can't say each other.”

They grinned together, matching smiles that surely ran in their genetics, before Nino touched his shoulder to the blond's in clear indication that it was his turn to answer first. Adrien jumped slightly, eyes averted from the camera. “Well, a crush probably counts, right?” He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, adamant on avoiding his cousin's mischievous grin.

“A live love broadcast!” Nino announced, leaning purposely onto him with a twisted smile. “Why don't you just shout out to her? Maybe she's watching—” Nino cut himself off, winded, clutching his stomach after the swift jab Adrien had delivered.

The blond rearranged himself to sit with pose; the picture of indifference and innocence wrapped into one with his bright, charming green eyes. “Why don't _you_ shout out?” he suggested. “I could even help you out, and do it for you.” He cleared his throat for added effect.

“ _No_! Don't you dare, Adrien!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? But you were all for doing it just a few moments ago.”

“I take it back!” Nino pleaded dramatically. “Let's just leave m— _her_ out of this.”

M.

Many names began with M. Marinette wasn't the only one. Her feelings were still conflicted—it was a confirmation of sorts, though he hadn't uttered the full name, or her name at all, but they had both admitted openly to having someone _special_ ; to having someone that made their heart flutter, especially.

“Good choice,” Adrien replied primly, smoothing his trousers out and contradicting the slight flush of his cheeks by the calm posture. “So, yes, it's fairly obvious we do but we're not saying who. There would be too much negative attention on whoever we announce. It's not a choice I'm willing to make alone.”

She snuck a glance at Alya's expression to see if she'd caught the slip. The red-head was sat watching with a happy smile playing upon her lips, blissfully unaware of what had just happened, as she was still under the impression that the hinted woman was her. Trying to tell her would be awful, still. There needed to be a time where the two of them sat down and showed each other evidence—or, rather, Marinette showed her—about who the real Nino was, so there wasn't any romantic feelings being projected onto the wrong person. Alya's fake Nino had been fine when she revealed who she really was, so who was to say that she wouldn't feel the same when he did the same?

As the broadcast continued, the pang of loneliness within her swelled. His messages had become a continuous highlight of her day, or week, and the sudden disappearance was beginning to dawn on her.

“Let's just switch between the two of us until we're ready to announce the news,” Nino suggested, a sly smile tugging across his lips.

The questions they picked afterwards were either humorous, personal, or stupidly random that the context didn't make sense at all. There wasn't a lot of information to be learned, and that frustrated Rose, causing her to blow air onto her open palms to create a high-pitched noise that was inappropriate for her age. Alya laughed at her, admitting that the questions were rather bland that evening.

“My favourite sweet? I'm not really sure what you mean by that, and I can't eat much because of my diet. Unless my next movie is one where I get to be chubby without make-up, there's no chance of me gorging in the near future,” Nino complained, pulling a displeased face. “I used to really like macarons, though. I guess they'd still be my favourite.”

She'd named their e-mail subject macarons once.

“Same with me.” Adrien smiled. “The last time I had a macaron would be… gosh, I think it's been a good couple of years. Even when I was travelling, they were never as good as—”

“Oh, _yes_! I know exactly what you mean, nothing beats the Dupa—” Nino cut himself off, slapping an open palm over his lips while glancing uncertainly at the camera. The blond's lips were pressed into a firm line, whether to prevent laughter or to show him displeasure, Marinette was unsure. The slip-up was obvious to her and her friends, but the rest of the world wouldn't connect the dots unless they figured it had to do with the pâtisserie that they had mentioned previously. “My bad,” he blurted.

After a question of what colour socks they prefer to wear, Marinette was pleasantly surprised when hers popped up. Adrien blinked after saying the username, perhaps recognising it as it was her name and last name abbreviated. When she'd sent in the question, she'd been hoping on the off chance that the other male would be the one to have the flicker of recognition, but Nino was simply sat there with a blissfully neutral expression and a small smile while he waited for the question to be read out.

“Do you have any pets?”

Nino re-adjusted his spectacles with a wide grin. “If I said no, it would be a bit strange, wouldn't it? That's not a fake or random paw that I showed before! Adrien and I,” he exclaimed, leaning over to rest an arm around the blonde's shoulders, “are proud parents of a really sassy cat named Plagg.”

“Please don't call him sassy,” Adrien remarked, though fondness leaked into his tone. Their eyes moved, synchronised, to the other side of the room and their expressions became very similar in terms of amusement. “He's just got a bit of an attitude.”

“Yeah, to me,” Nino said, clucking his tongue in disapproval. “Plagg always prefers you, and he's actively rude to me all of the time. You'd think you hung the fucking moon with the way that cat loves you.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, slipping himself out of Nino's arm. “Now that's not true. He preferred Marinette over the both of us.”

Slip up number two. Her feelings were conflicted on the confession. Although she was the one that asked the question, and therefore had Adrien call out her name, the small reveal that they knew each other came from the wrong lips. She could sense that her friends were looking at her in confusion, uncertain of why she had reached out in such a way, especially when there was only a small chance that they would see it.

Nino's grumbling voice caught her attention. “That's true. He'd probably still prefer her today.”

There was a blur of darkness across the screen, leaping upon the coffee table that was barely in view, before it appeared upon Adrien's white shirt. The contrast between the material and the black fur was eye catching, and Marinette found herself leaning closer to the screen to see Plagg clearly. He was clearly a happy feline; that was clear from the front legs resting upon the blond's shoulder, body held up by the raised arm while Adrien smiled fondly down at him. There was no block collar across his neck or a nametag—much like Tikki's lack of one, too—though she highly doubted the duo were careless with his safety.

The feline was actively ignoring the other male. Adrien stroked Plagg's head fondly, shooting his cousin a triumphant smile that Nino raised his upper lip in displeasure at. It was strange to see. In all her scenarios in her imagination, she'd never factored in that Plagg would be familiar with him, too. He even _preferred_ him (but not as much as he used to her, apparently). Her childhood was becoming more disorientated as time went on. She wanted more answers, and the two were causing more questions to swirl within her mind.

The big reveal came afterwards. A lot of companies had pitched and tried to get the two of them to do more than a few interviews and photoshoots together, and they'd finally settled on a project to be involved in. Marinette openly gaped at the screen at their confession, the twin grins not easing the sudden discomfort in her stomach.

The two of them were going to guest star on a popular television show, and model for a fashion show by the same company. Perspiration began to appear on her forehead as the realisation sunk in; the internship that she'd been selected for, the competition that she'd worked so hard for to prove herself, was the same one that would be featuring the two celebrities in front of her.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Marinette moaned into her hands, eyes scrunched shut.

-x-

Her nerves going haywire, as if electricity was dancing upon her fingertips and constantly shocking her. Marinette smoothed out her high bun, checking that her hair wasn't in disarray due to the heavy wind, while she wondered whether she'd dressed appropriately for an internship. Alya had simply advised her to be semi-formal (meaning, don't show cleavage, Marinette) and wear minimal make-up, and so, she did. A light shade of scarlet was smeared across her lips, and only a small coating of mascara upon her eyelashes. The outfit she'd chosen was one of her favourites for events at the university; a coral-coloured blazer with white trims and rolled up sleeves, a porcelain shirt with one button undone, and high-waisted light blue shorts that came just above mid-thigh and covered enough skin to be considered professional.

She clutched the nametag, unsure whether to place it upon her blazer already, while holding her polka-dot-patterned bag with a tight grip.

“It'll be fine,” she assured herself, slipping the nametag on.

The receptionist directed her to an empty room, filled with a large bulletin board, several folders that were tucked in a corner of the table with a paperweight upon it—clearly a signal not to touch them without permission—and six chairs. She'd arrived ten minutes early, but had expected to be one of the last to arrive.

The first to stumble through the door and take a seat on the other side of the table was a tall male with dyed blond hair, as his thick eyebrows were a dark brown, who was wearing a tight white t-shirt and black slacks. The only colour in his outfit was a bright purple belt around his waist. He fiddled with his hair while he sat, avoiding eye contact, but she was able to read that his name was Vincent.

The second was another male, slightly above average height, who was clad in a black button-up shirt and trousers, with a white bowtie around his neck. He was clearly nervous, hand shaking as he pulled out a chair in between the two of them. Marinette flashed him a soft smile of support, noting that the middle parting he'd created for his hair was beginning to backfire, as the chin-length auburn curls were breaking free to fall in every direction. Simon tried to return the smile, but it came out as a grimace.

A girl stumbled through the door next. She was bound to be around Marinette's height without the large, black wedges she was wearing. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a side braid, resting upon her breast, though there was a strand escaping, a loose ringlet just below her chin. It was obvious that she was a pretty girl, so when she caught Marinette's bewildered eyes, she flashed a large smile and slid into the seat beside her.

“I'm Manon,” she introduced herself, indicating to the nametag clipped upon the top of her breast. The dress itself was black, with a white collar along the top that managed to look professional, even with the large heels she was wearing.

She returned the smile, gesturing to her own. “Marinette.”

Manon's smile widened.

There were two seats left to be filled, one on either side of Vincent. Marinette attended the closest university to the company building they were currently in, though she was unsure where the other interns were enrolled. The longest journey would've been a few hours, and that meant a lot of travelling and time to be late.

Another male came through the door. His forehead was glistening with sweat, and in the light it was clear that his hair was coloured a dark brown, almost black, while it was pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck. He wore a gray t-shirt, a black cardigan and dark jeans that were slightly ratty, and it was clear that he was the most casual dressed of them all—even beating Vincent in that aspect. As he swept a few loose strands out of his face, eyes scanning the room, Marinette blinked in surprise. She recognised him, and his familiar patch of hair upon his chin.

“Théo?” she asked.

He looked down at the askew nametag, correcting the position before catching her eye. “Marinette?” he questioned, uncertain.

Marinette nodded, surprised at the coincidence. She'd only met him once at the light reveal, and hadn't expected to run into him again. It was nice to know someone, slightly, though. Théo shrugged his shoulders at her when he noticed there was no unoccupied seat near her, and settled in beside Vincent who had a distinctive frown upon his lips.

It turned out it would only be the five of them. The remaining seat was left for Xavier Ramier, the executive from the television side of the company. He moved the seat so he could see them all at once, and introduced them to what they'd be doing for a solid few hours that day. They were to sort through the folders presented to them, which contained all the outfits that the main characters of a television show had worn during all of the series, and decide which styles and colours matched each character. On Saturday, they would be given a character to create different outfits for, and the positive feedback would result in first pick for which model they'd be fitting within the fashion show at a later date.

The company attire was more casual than she expected. Even though it was still mid-winter, the heat was cranked up high within the building, and for such reasons the employees were mostly in casual clothes. Xavier explained—insisting that they addressed him as such, and surnames were only used when there was need for disciplinary action—that most clothing was fine, as long as they fit certain guidelines: cover most of the breast, buttocks, and no full view of the stomach, and the rules applied to any genders.

They were given a folder each. Marinette opened it with keen interest, surprised to see the actress that went by Sarah, no last name. She was twenty-nine, busty, with burning scarlet hair that fell to her shoulders.

Oh, Rose was going to be excited. This was one of her favourite shows to binge watch. It was still airing, on the fifth season, and a slice-of-life comedy with romantic tones.

This was the television show Nino and Adrien would be appearing on. There was no doubt that the interns wouldn't be able to style the duo, but the other reoccurring characters were another story. The four around her were flicking through their selected folders with raised eyebrows, obviously recognising the show, too.

Sarah's character was feisty, seductive at times, and self-opinionated. She wore loud colours and bold outfits that reflected her character, and wasn't shy about wearing a lot of make-up. The woman was a household name, and not just for this successful character; she'd delved into movies, too, but had much preferred her role on television. She claimed it was more fun to stay in character and watch them grow over a series, rather than within a few hours.

Xavier excused himself, saying they were free to explore and introduce themselves to cast after lunch in a designated area, as long as they didn't intrude upon important meetings or gatherings.

They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the flicking of their files, and pens scratching against paper to jot down notes and ideas. Marinette was set on preparing three different sketches, casual, semi-formal, and formal so it would fit any situation that would pop up.

Manon was the one to break the quiet. “This is so awkward!” she groaned, stretching her tanned arms above her head. “Why don't we just introduce ourselves and get to know each other? We've already won the competition, so there's not much point in being damn enemies right now.”

There was a noise of disapproval. Marinette assumed it came from Vincent.

“Well, I'm Théo.” His smile was just as charming as it was the first time. “I met Marinette a couple of weeks ago, but I had no idea that she was chosen for this. I'm a third-year at my university.” He left the name out intentionally.

Manon raised her hand, and Marinette noticed her fingernails were precisely shaped and painted a soft shade of purple. “Manon here! I'm a first-year, and I'm honestly amazed that I made it here at all.”

Manon's pretty hazel eyes framed with thick lashes looked at her expectantly. “Marinette,” she announced, waving timidly at them. “Second-year.”

Curly-haired Simon was next. He glanced up briefly before looking at his papers, shuffling them nervously. “A—Simon. I'm Simon. Third-year.”

Vincent huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Vincent, third-year,” he said quickly.

“We could have just read our nametags for that information,” Manon stated, resting her chin upon her open palms, elbows resting on her folder. She blew at the loose ringlet on her face. “Let's just try and get along. I'm not really interesting in sabotaging anyone here.”

The snarky blond was the one to respond, “You're scheming already.”

Manon sniffed. “Yeah, for _friendship_.”

Conversation picked up slowly after the awkward introductions in the beginning. Manon acted as a buffer for when comments could have been taken badly—she was a happy girl, and her smile was certainly infectious. Marinette found her cheeks hurting by the time they decided to take the allotted time for a lunch break. Théo and Manon continued the conversation while they walked, and Simon shyly provided a small map that he'd acquired (he was the only one of the five to do so).

The company was large, spacious, and had many different rooms with codes to input or security to bypass in important section. The plain walls were decorated with large framed magazine covers that were considered their most successful, and television posters were plastered on equally the same amount of area. There was a small wall dedicated to awards within the company, featuring small photographs and names of the higher-ups on display. The cafeteria was large, with an array of different dishes and styles to choose from, though the system was the usual tray and queue technique.

They ate their lunch with pleasant conversation, and Marinette decided the food wasn't as bad as she'd expected. A lot of the selection was healthy and balanced, or as calorie-less as possible, so she'd been wary after being spoiled by Alya's cooking. A packed lunch would've taken away the possible time to converse with others within the hall, and she wasn't too sure on the stance taken with food from the outside (they were permitted to leave to eat elsewhere, of course).

The cast were welcoming, surprisingly. The expected attitude, which the interns had mumbled about, was that they'd be unkind to amateurs interrupting the studio, and helping with the workings within. Marinette shook hands, making sure her palm wasn't sweaty or her grip wasn't limp, with multiple individuals, and willed herself not to let her expression show just how disorientated she was at that moment. Théo and Manon were all smiles, actively divulging information about themselves and attempting to get to know everyone within the studio.

Marinette gripped the strap of her bag, bright eyes flickering around the room to spy on who was making their way into the studio. She was ushered to the background, along with the other interns, while the cast began to flick to the right pages on their scripts, and the director appeared.

She watched the wardrobe changes, the details that were taken during the first stages of filming, and even covered her mouth to suppress laughter when a male actor accidentally fell over a prop dramatically, and had tried to stay in character the whole time.

“Oh, right, Marinette!” Manon called, her heels tapping quickly across the floor as she jogged towards her in the lobby. “I forgot to ask for your number. Always good to keep in contact, right?” She flashed a large smile with pearly white teeth, a sequin-covered cell phone in view.

“I don't mind.” Marinette returned the smile, wondering whether her cheeks would be hurting later the evening still. They'd spent over six hours together—they were allowed to leave late-afternoon, thankfully, as travelling times were quite long for some—and she was convinced that the high-heeled girl's moods were always infectious. She was sure to be wonderful at parties. “Here it is.”

Manon raised her thumb in a good-hearted gesture. “You're a star.”

Marinette shook her head fondly as the girl darted through the large front doors, shivering immediately at the cold air outside. Perhaps Manon would remember to bring a jacket the next day. Marinette reached into her bag, wrapping the thick scarf around her neck while beginning to walk slowly in a haze. The day had been unbelievable, she'd decided. The only person with a less-than-positive attitude had been Vincent, and that seemed staged at times; she was convinced he'd almost cracked a smile at one of Manon's jokes during lunch.

“Marinette!” It was a trend to call after her that evening, apparently. Marinette glanced over her shoulder, lips pulling into a friendly smile as she saw Théo falling into step beside her. “Hey, I thought you left already.”

“Not yet,” she said, “Manon kept me for a bit to wrestle my number off of me.”

“I see.” Théo laughed, adjusting his clothes for warmth as they passed through the front doors. “It's really nice to see you, by the way. A friendly face is always welcome.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Good to know that my face is friendly.”

“That's a heartfelt compliment,” he defended. “Do I have to wrestle you for your number, too? Manon already exchanged with me earlier, so I could always bribe her if you're unwilling.”

She laughed at the comment. Manon had probably wangled their numbers from everyone, especially Vincent who she was determined to crack his outer-shell. After exchanging numbers, and partaking in a few minutes of small talk, Marinette excused herself at the bus stop while he continued onwards to catch a train further away. She deduced that none of the other interns lived as close as she did to the company, simply because they had fanned out in different directions while she had walked to the nearest bus stop.

The tinkling of bells caught her attention. The cell phone screen illuminated, and she'd expected to see Manon's or Théo's name appear on the screen, so she was bewildered when she saw the message was from Chat.

It was a relief that she hadn't bumped into him that day. She had no idea if he knew about her internship which fell upon the two projects he was participating in with Adrien—would they have been given a list of the different staff? Did interns even count as staff in his eyes?

She wasn't a nobody, though. She'd still be in the background, not beside him, but it wasn't as far away as before.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Adrien mentioned that he forgot to give you his number. Here it is._ '

“That's _all_?” she blurted, uncaring of the strange look the man beside her sent her way.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Nice to hear from you, too._ '

His reply came when she was squashed against a window seat, bag cradled in her lap carefully.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Sorry for the distance. I was pretty embarrassed about our last conversation, honestly._ '

 _He_ was embarrassed? She hadn't even known it was possible for him to feel such an emotion. The words he spouted were usually cool and confident, though she imagined if he were to actually _say_ them, then it would've been a different matter. What was there to be embarrassed about, though? The conversation had been rather tame compared to the others—compared to their e-mails.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You're very confusing. It's unwise to fool around while trying to court someone, is it not?_ '

The last sentence was the same that he'd typed that night.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You're as wise as ever, princess_.'

 _PREVIEW:_ ' _I suppose Adrien's your replacement tonight._ '


	7. 07

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say in advance: there'll be barely any angst in the future. I'm not really the type to write feeling sorry for themselves characters for too long.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

She was too wary to check any e-mails from Chat. Her feelings were uncertain at that moment, wavering between fondness, and whether her adorations would be lost upon him. How hurtful would it be for her to ask to just be friends—to pursue her original plan? It had fallen off course, disastrously and fantastically at the same time. She'd put herself out there for answers, to converse with her childhood best friend, but had ended up in a spiral of constant flirtations and her ever-beating heart.

“What do you want to try today, Marinette?” Manon's voice broke her out of her dizzying thoughts. The two of them had decided on their second day that they'd share and enthuse over the different foods in the cafeteria together, rather than working their way through separately and grimace silently if they weren't fond of their choice. “I'm feeling something spicy, I think. Anything you're allergic to?”

“Any is fine,” she answered, shrugging slightly. “I'm good with most things.”

An arm reached over her to select a sandwich. Vincent firmly avoided talking unless it was extremely necessary, though he wasn't against flaunting his height by reaching over the two females whenever the opportunity arose. Manon stuck her tongue out childishly at him, eyes narrowed half mockingly.

Xavier met them every morning in the same room, and assigned small tasks to each of them, though they were usually separate. Simon was sent off the second day, while Théo had been selected for the third. They were mediocre tasks, it seemed. Simon had shyly admitted that he had been selected to fetch coffee and lunch for higher-ups, while Théo had messaged Manon to say he was copying files. Perhaps it was so they could integrate themselves with the staff, to get to know them slowly by themselves rather than with the rest of the interns. Would she be subjected to cleaning the bathrooms one day?

Marinette picked at her food, accepting the small portion of Manon's selected food on her plate which soon smeared across the plate with the rest.

Her stomach felt uneasy. Was it the nerves coming back?

“Excuse me for a bit,” she found herself saying, “I'll meet you back at the studio.”

In the bathroom that was tiled neatly with splashes of blue to brighten the room, she stared at herself in the wide mirrors, tap running softly so the splashing of water filled the silence. Her skin was pale, standing out more than usual against her dark hair. The black dress with dots decorating the material wasn't a wise choice with her complexion. She splashed water on her face, careful not to cause her make-up to run, and took deep breaths to calm down.

The tasks they had to do in the studio weren't tedious. The interns that were there were assistants to the others, meaning they moved props, clothing, and anything else that was required of them. The staff were all positive personalities, so working with them was delightful, much like Manon.

“All right,” she said after the water had dried.

There was still some time left before they were due at the studio. Marinette wiped her sweaty palms on the material of her dress, taking small but balanced steps on her journey. Employees were rushing past her, some with red faces as they exerted themselves, while the tapping of high-heeled shoes meant that more than a few weren't worried about the time.

Marinette stepped aside, trying to avoid being in the way of individuals travelling through the open door. She glanced to see whether she recognised the faces, when she glanced and noticed a thick pair of wide-rimmed glasses.

Oh, _no_.

Nino, dressed in casual attire of a t-shirt, jeans and a jacket that wasn't appropriate for the weather, was laughing at something the others around him were saying. There were three men beside him, significantly older, and she didn't recognise any of them. His hazel-coloured eyes flickered to her for a moment before looking straight ahead at where he was walking, still conversing with his company. Marinette blinked, confusion surely leaking into her expression, wondering whether it was normal for his reaction to be so nonchalant.

He glanced at her again, lips turning up at the corners in a small smile, as he winked quickly before continuing on his way as if nothing had happened.

That was surprising. She'd expected him to pretend that they didn't know each other, or introduce himself normally; certainly not _wink_ and waltz off into the distance. She had never told him about the competition, the internship, or the fact that they would be possibly working together in the future. And yet, he didn't seem surprised that she was there.

It was the first time he'd acknowledged her, even slightly, in person, though. She touched her cheek, bemused to notice that a smile had appeared without her consent.

“Hell,” she murmured.

Work distracted her from her thoughts. There was no sign of Nino, even though he had been in the building, and she soon found out from the higher-up that she was helping push a clothing rail that the two celebrities were filming during the week, so they wouldn't cross paths with her unless there was a hiccup in their schedules. Mid-afternoon Marinette packed up her belongings, slipping the strap upon her shoulder and wrapping the scarf around her as Manon chattered on about her day. Simon shyly waved in farewell on his way past, which caused Manon to reply loudly, “See ya!”

“Leave him be,” Marinette scolded, attempting to banish the fond smile upon her lips. “He's older than you, so have some respect.”

Manon simply pushed her long chestnut-coloured strands of her behind her shoulder with a huff. “ _You're_ older than me.”

“Respect, please,” she joked.

“I respect your body, is that enough?” Manon winked cheekily. “I'd love to go out with you sometime. You'd probably look killer in a pair of heels and a nice dress.”

“This is a _nice_ dress,” she defended, smoothing the material of her clothing. “How far away do you live from here, by the way? My friends throw some extravagant parties at times, and I could probably get you an invite.”

Manon quickly leapt at her, wrapping her lace-covered arms around Marinette's shoulders. “Really? That would be fun! I'm… I live about an hour away, I think? I could probably crash at my mother's place, but that would be pretty awkward. Any chance there's a place I could stay nearby?”

She blinked. “I could check with my flat-mates and see if they're okay with you staying with us? As long as it's not all the time, it should be fine.”

“My apartment's amazing, though. I'd miss her even just for a night.” Manon sniffed dramatically. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Of all the questions that were available, the one that came from Manon's red-painted lips was bewildering. “Are you friends with Chloé Bourgeois?”

“Chloé?” Marinette repeated, surprised when she nodded in confirmation. “I'd call us more acquaintances—we've got a mutual friend, so I see her more often than I would otherwise. Why do you ask?”

Manon shrugged. “She's mentioned quite a lot. It's like automatic bragging rights if someone's friends with her, or seen in photographs at events she's been at.” But that didn't seem to be the whole story. Marinette raised her eyebrows, bumping her shoulder into Manon's to urge her to continue. With a small smile, she did. “My mother's been trying to push us together for a while. She's an _acquaintance_ of Chloé's father.”

“Do you not like her?” Marinette asked, shivering slightly as they passed through the front doors.

“I've never met her.” Manon shrugged. “I've always said no or that I was busy, since I know how everyone would react. I'm not really interested in being friends with a socialite.”

Marinette bumped their shoulders against in each other in a comforting manner. Although she had never considered categorising the finicky blonde as a socialite, the title fit her quite well. Chloé danced around with lots of different crowds, especially the sort that would land her photograph in some sort of a gossip post, though she was a lot more toned down during their hours at the university. Her education wasn't unimportant to her, then. Chloé was rough around the edges, but she wasn't too bad.

“Why do you want to get to know her now?” Marinette asked softly, uncertain whether it was wise to continue.

Manon shrugged, fishing a pair of knitted gloves from her bag; an action that allowed her to avoid eye contact without causing too much suspicion. “Maybe it's not the best to talk about it now—another time, Marinette,” she said softly, waving quickly in farewell and walking fast down the gray pavement, her high-heeled shoes tapping inconsistently in a rhythm that wasn't well suited to the busy brunette.

“Good-bye,” Marinette murmured.

Hopefully her mood would be happier the next week. Marinette shivered, rubbing the material upon her forearms for warmth as she waited for her bus to arrive.

“Oh!” she said in surprise, jumping when her cell phone began to make noise.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You should dress fur the weather._ '

Fucking _Chat_. A bloody pun after the strange eye contact earlier that afternoon, and this was how he chose to start up a conversation after their busy weekend? She couldn't tell if the laugh that escaped her lips was exasperated or fond.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You're not the shining example of a role model._ '

Not a good example of consistency either.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Any time you see me at your work, my outfit will change two to three times. Don't judge on first glance, Marinette._ '

Did it count as her work? She wasn't being paid, and it was simply an internship for a short period of time. Nevertheless, the sentence caused a smile to blossom on her lips, silently approving of the phrase.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You really are a pampered prince, eh?_ '

Coddled, loved, and adored by more than half the population. It was a rare day when he received a negative review, and even then, most of the time they were squashed, set alight and sent to the depths of the internet, not often seen by others.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Then allow me to pamper you, too, princess. In all the ways possible._ '

Marinette gulped, the noise louder than expected within the confines of the bus. Thankfully, there was no one squashed beside her that day. Chat was turning the charm on, once again, and she was beginning to wonder whether it would be possible to grow immune to his strange ways. She had grown fond of the rare puns he slipped in, though the absence of them when their conversations were purely serious was wonderful.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Calm down, kitty. I think we should take it slow._ '

Not slow. She wanted to take him aside, and then blurt out the information that was hidden; to understand why he was so sweet, and instantly wanted to reconnect without many questions.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Will you honour me by slow dancing by my side, then?_ '

“Twat,” she murmured fondly.

-x-

On Monday, Marinette stared bewildered at her cell phone. Although she had taken Max and Kim's numbers from Chloé's gathering many weeks beforehand, she hadn't expected one of them to reach out and contact her first. So when her screen illuminated in the darkness early morning, Marinette blinked her bleary eyes in surprise. Max had invited her, and a plus one of her choice, to a charity event he was hosting that weekend. It was half an hour away by taxi, she assumed, and in a rented hall that was more than large enough for the amount of people that would be arriving. When she mentioned it to Aurore as they shared their scalding coffee, she mentioned that a lot of large names were going to be in attendance, and a snippet of information that had been pushed to the back of her mind burst through. Max was one of Nino's closest friends.

She'd been specifically invited, not as a plus one, to one of his friends' social event. It was a step in the right direction, to not being a ghost in the background, albeit it small, she was immensely happy.

There was the question of who to take as her plus one, though. Rose would be gobsmacked and then probably flaunt herself in front of her crush, if she had the chance, or would gape like a fish and constantly open and close her mouth without doing much else. Alya was just as unlikely to be her choice. There was still the small matter that she believed the person she was sending naughty pictures to was the same one that Marinette was conversing with—and she still didn't have the guts to break the news, and confess simultaneously. So when they asked, Marinette said, “I asked Manon to accompany me, so we can get to know each other better.” They were surprised, though there were no complaints about it; it was her choice, after all, and she held no obligations.

Two updates had been updated to the _Ladyblog_ —one featured Marinette drying her hair, while another of her bending over to correct the laces of her boots. There was still the underlying feeling of being embarrassed, exposed and violated, though they were very small. She couldn't deny that the attention was good for business. The lingerie that she'd crafted over the holidays had sold instantly the moment they were put online, right after the first picture had boomed out of control. The views of the blog were disastrously high, still climbing with no sign of stopping soon, and Alya was giddy with excitement most of the time. Apparently there had been more than a few attempts to bribe her of the information of Lady's identity, though the red-head assured her that their attempts were futile. The three flat-mates were the only ones that knew that Alya ran the blog, and that Marinette was the unfortunate victim of their fun and games.

Tuesday morning, Marinette shrieked as she awoke with a start, clutching the duvet to her chest on reflex to try and cover any flesh that was peeking out. There was the tell-tale noise of a shutter, and Alya's slightly maniacal laughter that was far too loud that morning.

“The fuck?” she mumbled, grimacing as she realised there were more than a few hairs in her mouth. “What do you _want_?”

“I have good news!” Alya cackled, slipping the cell phone into the back pocket of her tight jeans. “Really good news, so I had to celebrate it with a great Lady picture.”

She tried to glare with half-lidded eyes. “How is a picture of me half asleep good to celebrate with?”

“It's _Lady_ half asleep,” the red-head corrected, a stubborn hand perched upon her hip, “and I also captured your right elbow, along with your hip. Nice underwear today, girl.”

Marinette groaned in response and threw the duvet over her face. There was no point fighting, especially when the picture had caused such laughter. “Tell me the good news, then.”

“We're in business, Mari,” Alya announced as she leapt onto the bed. Marinette bounced upon the springs of her mattress, her bewildered expression meeting her friend's overly happy one, surprised to see that her glasses were perched upon the top of her head, directing the short strands of her hair away so she could see her face clearly. Her warm brown eyes, that were oh-so-familiar and comforting, were bright and excited. At Marinette's raised eyebrows, she took the hint. Cupping her mouth to whisper dramatically, Alya said, “Two sponsors for the site. They're paying _me_ to slap a few advertisements on there, and in return, with a code people will get a discount on their site that'll benefit us.”

It was a clothing site that had an ever-growing popularity. Marinette had seen a store or two appear in the past few years.

“…What's the code?” she asked suspiciously.

Alya winked. “Ladybug.”

“Eh?” she blurted. “Why?”

A moment of brilliance had hit her, apparently. Alya happily explained the reason for the code, and then went on to explain that she'd began to watermark the original photographs with a small ladybug and a caption of text, the blog name, just to make sure they weren't stolen and claimed by someone else with their rising popularity. The lingerie that they'd sold together had earned them quite a fair amount of cash, and Alya had insisted that it went towards Marinette alone as she'd put in the work overall, and the sudden sponsorship was surely going to fill their pockets in due time.

“You're silly,” Marinette said fondly.

The surprises kept coming as the day progressed. Aurore had handed her a coffee early morning, saying that her new toothpaste was far too strong and it wasn't working well before running off to class without making small talk, and then Marinette had managed to recover from almost tripping over. When she walked into a lecture hall, fully prepared to be sat alone again, she spotted a bright scarlet mop of hair that was neatly combed and resting upon the shoulders of a lithe figure.

“Nathaniel!” she called, taking fast footsteps towards their usual spot. He looked over his shoulders, body locked in surprise, and expression mirroring his posture. Marinette grinned, happy to see that he was okay—even if he was quiet, his presence was nice in the particular class that they shared together. “You're here.”

He nodded slowly, the surprise leaking from his expression and slowly becoming blank and unsure.

“I'm glad you're okay,” she said, slipping into her seat. “Class hasn't been the same.” And it really hadn't. A class-mate that she hadn't conversed with before had tried to sit there the previous week, and it had been awkward and rather forced. Thankfully, though, they were sat back on the other side of the room in their usual place. Doubts had ran through her mind when Nathaniel hadn't replied to her last message asking whether he was okay, but it was understandable that he hadn't responded. If someone had messaged her whenever she was absent from class, one that she hadn't conversed with often, then she might have pushed the message aside and forgot to answer it after all.

Nathaniel sketched away during the lesson, while Marinette diligently took notes. She picked up his eraser when it fell, and he tapped the desk to catch her attention when she was too busy looking at her notepad to notice the new sentences that had appeared on the board.

“It was nice seeing you again,” she said, packing away her things. There would be another week until she sat beside him again, so when she glanced up to see the fair-skinned boy nervously picking at the sleeve of his shirt, Marinette felt the corners of her mouth tug into a small smile as she remembered a previous conversation (of sorts). He wanted to improve their relationship, right? “Do you want to get some coffee with me?” Marinette asked, aware that her voice sounded unsure. He had ventured into her preferred coffee-shop once upon a time, just to return her a lost possession. “It doesn't have to be now, but any time in the future would be nice.”

He blinked. Nathaniel pushed the scarlet stands from his face, allowing the view of both, wide turquoise, eyes as he slowly nodded again.

She barely restrained a snort. It was a yes, at least. “Does next week sound okay?” she asked.

Another nod.

“After class or before?”

Her expectations she had of him were shaky, but somewhat consistent. He'd either reply by staring at her blankly, write on a piece of paper, or perhaps message her (though she could count on one hand the amount of times he had), so when he broke the pattern, she couldn't hide the shock from seeping into her expression.

“After,” he said softly.

Nathaniel's voice wasn't high as some had predicted; it was melodic, lovely to listen to, even from just the one word that he had uttered. Colour appeared splashed upon his cheeks, and he ducked his head in farewell and walked quickly out of the room, and all Marinette could say while watching him leave was, “Bye.”

When she told Alya later about it, she'd teased her constantly and even said it could be considered cheating if the two of them got closer. Marinette sniffed and pointed out there wasn't anyone for her to really cheat on.

Manon was completely okay to go to the event with her; or, rather, she was buzzing with excitement and had almost shattered Marinette's eardrum when she gave her answer via a phone call. Alya and Rose were completely fine with the brunette staying at their apartment for a night, and were looking rather forward to meeting the girl they'd heard strange tales about (mostly the odd conversations that had occurred at work).

Although it was strange to ask, Marinette went against her better instincts and messaged Chat.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Will you be attending Max's charity event?_ '

They were best friends; of course he'd attend unless there was an urgent matter at hand.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Are you familiar with Max? I wouldn't be surprised since you know Chloé. I don't think I will be, no. That date is my mother's birthday, so I'll be spending the evening with her._ '

Was that a titbit of information she was supposed to remember? Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, wondering how to respond to that. Her stomach had plummeted from being told he wouldn't be there—even if she wanted to deny it, she'd been anticipating seeing him there, in flesh and where they could converse without co-workers (Marinette decided they could be classed as that, for now) shooting the two of them strange looks. If there were reporters inside, her plan was to stay in the background and try not to approach him. The slip-up of her name, and part of her surname, on the latest webcast had caused her to be more cautious than ever, though it was out of her hands.

Social media had connected the dots, and her parents had mentioned that business was absolutely insane and exhausting since that day. Fans had eliminated the other options, and while there were still many fans waltzing into her family's pâtisserie, reporters and bloggers had also attempted to coax information from them. Her mother had reassured her that they hadn't confirmed nor denied anything yet, and they wanted Marinette to be absolutely certain before she could make her decision. What would she say? Go ahead, rake in the money while mentioning the tale of her childhood; just try not to embarrass the celebrity in the process?

' _Marinette:  
_ _We've met before, yes. If you won't be my prince there, will you at least tell me what sort of attire to wear? This is a first for me._ '

Rose had too many ideas and options when she'd asked her. The blonde had jumped head first into Marinette's wardrobe, and had thrown multiple options out and proceeded to cover the entire length of the mattress with different combinations, and while the evening sky covered itself in a blanket of darkness, Marinette chose the right time to banish her friend away so she could relax in peace and quiet.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _You'll be beautiful in anything, Marinette. The only thing to avoid is jeans and anything casual like that; the reporter's will eat you alive. And, yes, they will be there and wondering who you are._ '

She pursed her lips.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Thank you for the advice. I doubt they'll be interested in me, though._ '

It wasn't her being modest. There would be popular names, with larger than life personalities and looks, so there wasn't much chance of her catching a lot of attention.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _If you reveal you're my childhood friend, then there would be a lot of buzz. Sorry for mentioning your name on the webcast, by the way. I was going to ask if you wanted it known first._ '

Marinette blinked. “Oh.”

' _Marinette:  
_ _The cat is out of the bag; fans and reporters are swarming my family's pâtisserie already. They've confirmed it by themselves. No one's bothered me at university yet, though._ '

Yet was the key word.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _My apologies. Does this mean I'm okay to mention you from now on? I promise not to reveal your dirty secrets in any interviews._ '

What kind of things could she have told him in her blissful childhood innocence? Though she couldn't deny that there would be a few questions directed her way if reporters were directed towards her, armed with the knowledge that two mainstream celebrities were close with her (one _still_ close, she corrected herself).

' _Marinette:  
_ _I can reveal your dirty secrets, too. Behave yourself._ '

His reply caused her to accidentally snort during her laughter.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Me-ouch._ '

-x-

Rose had Friday off, so she was spending her time in the depths of Marinette's wardrobe, matching together different articles of clothing and sending photographs to Marinette's cell phone, updating her on her choices. By the time the dark-haired female had walked through the glass doors of the company's entrance, the message was already entitled ' _option eight_ '.

Under her breath, Marinette muttered, “Silly girl.”

Their meeting room was almost empty, as per usual. Marinette smoothed down the material of her tan shorts, straightening her white button-up shirt and made sure the suspenders were still in the right position. Her clothing was slowly becoming informal, though they were still decent and covered anything that would've been deemed inappropriate.

Vincent was the first to arrive, his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet as his hair was pushed back to reveal his forehead. The look was more flattering than the bangs that constantly shrouded his expression, but when his eyes met hers, a scowl formed on his face that immediately ruined any charming qualities he had to him.

“How was your week?” she asked, attempting to make conversation.

The male promptly ignored her.

At lunch that day, when Manon was applying her lipstick to make sure there wasn't any missing on the corners of her lips, Théo had covered his mouth to contain his laughter. The grumpy blonde had disappeared after inhaling his food—most likely to their meeting room, despite the time—leaving Marinette able to groan that she was hated without much reason.

“He _has_ a reason, though,” Théo pointed out, his smile reaching the corners of his dark sienna eyes. “Vincent's never been to a co-ed school. He doesn't know how to deal with women, so he resorts to being bloody rude.”

“Eh?” Marinette asked, dumbfounded as she rested her chin of her open palm. “What do you mean he doesn't know how to deal with women?”

Manon smacked her lips together audibly. “Does this mean he's playing for the other team?”

Her thoughts flickered to Juleka. “Just because he's tongue-tied around women doesn't mean he's not attracted to them.”

“Tongue-tied?” Théo laughed. “He just blurts the first thing that comes to mind, and then sulks about it.”

“Well, how do you know this?” Manon asked, shooting the taller male a glare. “You're, what, secret best friends over the week?”

It wasn't too far of a stretch. Marinette had managed to become closer to the girl beside her during that time; she'd had to silence her cell phone during classes since Manon had taken to messaging her the complaints of her classes through the day. They were constant, but amusing—Manon was especially angry with one of her professors, after they'd said her choice in clothing was too distracting for some class-mates.

“Our universities are pretty close together, actually. I saw him during my lunch one day, and we started talking. Did you know he smiles? He has a killer sense of humour, too.” Marinette raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Really, I'm not lying. Just cover up your lovely breasts and maybe you'll find out.”

Even though the comment of her body was offhandedly made, Marinette felt her cheeks warm up. Manon had a different reaction, however; she smacked Théo around the head while laughing aloud, and Marinette soon found herself laughing, too.

When she volunteered to put the trays away for their table, Marinette almost dropped them in surprise as her eyes caught sight of a certain someone sitting alone, eating their meal in peace. It was a shocking sight to see, indeed; a curly-haired individual eating slowly, while tapping away at his cell phone with his free hand. She indicated to her group for them to leave without her, and, thankfully, they didn't ask any questions. Manon shrugged her shoulders and led the way out of the cafeteria, with Théo and the silent Simon in tow.

She smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her clothing, checking that her bun was still safely in place at the crown of her head, before making her way over to his table.

Nino didn't look up from his cell phone as she stood beside him. She debated between clearing her throat or waiting to see whether he'd glance to his left, before tossing the ideas to the side.

“Nino?” she called softly.

The male stiffened, certainly thinking that the one calling his name was a fan or someone to enquire about his schedule or personal life. As he looked up, seeing her through his thick-rimmed spectacles that obscured her vision of his eyes, his expression smoothed out from blank, to polite and welcoming.

“Hi,” he greeted her, “can I help you?”

She was bewildered. Marinette furrowed her brow in thought, her suspicions confirmed when the corners of his lips twisted slightly. He was _playing_ with her—trying to see what reaction she'd have to his nonchalance.

“I don't know,” was her reply, “can you?”

They stared at each other in an odd silence. His lips continued to twitch from his efforts to restrain his smile, while Marinette was positively exasperated at the playful attempt to rile her up. Nino, however, was the first one to break. His smile suddenly erupted, reaching his hazel eyes and showing his bright teeth as he laughed aloud, causing Marinette to blink before rolling her eyes fondly.

“Hi, Marinette,” he corrected himself.

Her eyes glanced to the empty seats beside him, shifting her feet. “Where's your entourage today?”

“Oh.” He blinked in recognition. “My manager's sorting out a few details of my contract, so I'm spending some time here. I wanted to check out the food, but this is pretty bland, actually.”

That made sense. He wasn't around in the afternoons often; or, rather, his and Adrien's scenes hadn't been shot yet, so there was no reason for them to dawdle during their busy schedules. “I prefer the dishes that are labelled spicy so far—they're actually pretty mild.” She shot him a small smile. “I've got to get going now. I just wanted to pass my congratulations for your mother tomorrow.” Was that strange? Surely she'd met, and was at least able to hold polite conversations, with his parents after all the time spent at his home. Her parents had introduced themselves to them, too.

Nino's expression evened out into a neutral one, while he regarded her with slightly raised eyebrows. “You remembered?” he asked, voice quieter than before. He placed his cell phone and cutlery onto his tray in favour of resting his elbows on the table. “I didn't think you would.”

Was she a forgetful child? “Well, yes,” she replied awkwardly, her hand raised to play with the small hairs of the nape of her neck.

“Thank you,” the dark-haired male said with a nod. “She'll be happy to hear from you.”

“I—I'll be going now, then,” Marinette stuttered over her words, stiffly pointing towards the doorway with her index finger. She tugged on the strap of her bag to secure it, scampering away while resisting to look over her shoulder to see his expression. Their encounter wasn't what she'd imagined it would be when they spoke for the first time—it wasn't even close! She'd been awkward, much more than she'd imagined it to be, more than she thought she'd be capable of in his presence. His messages comforted her instantaneously, almost always, but his voice hadn't.

The rest of the day wasn't stressful, thankfully, but she was still relieved when it was over. Manon as chipper and overly excitable, and Théo was encouraging her to express her emotions more, rather than vibrate on the spot with her energy. By the time she reached her apartment, Manon had sent seven messages, and they were slowly building up to match the likes of Rose's. The blonde, however, had sent at least fifteen different outfit choices, and hadn't cleaned up the explosion of fabric in Marinette's bedroom. Marinette groaned, resting her forehead against the cool wood of her door, and shouted aloud for Rose to come running.

The spunky blonde did, with a large smile on her face. “Alya and I went through all of them, and our favourite side is on the right,” she explained, gesturing towards the fabrics draped over the desk, chair, and even Marinette's printer. “Though you might like some from the left, actually. Do you have any idea what others will be wearing?”

“Not jeans,” she blurted automatically. At Rose's raised brow, she averted her eyes to glance at the selections on the right side. “I got some advice—basically, don't look casual and all will be good. I trust your judgement, Rose, but I'm not going over the top. It's not masquerade.”

Rose huffed. “I'm not a complete fool, Marinette,” she defended herself, “but you'll probably have to wear a thong with some of the dresses you've got to choose from. Suffer for your beauty.”

She stuck her tongue out.

They draped various materials over Marinette's body—over the clothes she was already wearing, though, so neither Rose nor Alya could sneak a picture and post it online without her realising—and went through various options before deciding on a dress that she'd worn the previous year for Aurore's birthday (which she could easily class as the fanciest event she'd been to).

Marinette sent a quick message to her mother, updating her on the choice of dress and shoes and blushing pink when she approved greatly, when a realisation struck her. She scrolled through her previous conversation with Chat, groaning in exasperation at herself when it was confirmed—she'd completely blanked and forgotten that she'd been given Adrien's number. Had Chat mentioned it to him in passing, or had Adrien approached him first after their last meeting in the café?

It was just past ten o'clock and her body was sore and tired from travelling that day.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Hello. This is Marinette._ '

The message was simple, quick, and she was astounded that her contact list was growing with names that were featured in the news, and she was honestly dumbfounded at her luck.

Her eyes trailed to the selection of images on her wall, glancing between the bright emerald eyes of one and the name on her phone.

“I should get rid of that,” she muttered.

The picture that Alya posted the next morning was rather tame for her. It was Marinette nursing a steaming mug of coffee in their kitchen, legs crossed with a pillow from her room pressed against her chest to keep warm. The attire was conservative compared to the previous ones, too—Marinette had a large t-shirt on, which she matched with shorts that she pulled on when she woke to wander into the kitchen. She'd learned not to walk around in her underwear after a previous picture, back when the blog had only just started.

Manon had sent a picture of her wearing the outfit she'd chosen. It was a pearl-coloured dress that would stand out against her lightly tanned skin, and fell to her knees with lace as a transparent layer on top. The front was a dramatic, a v-shape between her ample breasts, and the material fell into styled creases from the thick straps upon her shoulders. Even from the bad lighting of the image, it was clear that the dress itself was expensive and more than what Marinette had expected from her new friend.

They met at the front entrance. Manon immediately sprung and covered her in a warm embrace, a welcome surprise from the foggy coldness outside, then announced that she had been chosen for the separate task that day. Manon tottered away in her bright violet high-heeled shoes and leather jacket, cheerfully greeting everyone she met on her way across the lobby.

Marinette shook her head with a fond smile.

It was easier to understand Vincent's reactions after the information that Théo had supplied the day before. When the blond would look up and catch Marinette looking his way, or when they bumped into each other within the studio, his expression would be blank before his lips twisted into an attempt of a sneer, or he'd utter a comment under his breath (quietly, so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings within the room). Marinette choked back her laughter each time, and only let out a few pearls of chuckles when Simon looked positively confused at the interaction between the two of them.

“I'm going to go get lunch,” Marinette said, jutting her thumb towards the door.

“I'll meet you in there!” Théo called, sorting through the racks of clothing.

Vincent ignored her announcement, and Simon was busy with his task still, so the dark-haired female set off towards the cafeteria alone and fished her cell phone out of her bag. There were three messages, and all of them caused her to blink in surprise.

' _Nathaniel Kurtzberg:  
_ _Best of luck on your internship._ '

Nathaniel—of all people, _Nathaniel_ , the male that was strangely mysterious, had been the one to contact her first about her internship (Aurore knew, of course, but other than that there hadn't been many comments). This was his way of reaching out, she supposed, and she felt her lips curling into a small smile. Nathaniel was similar to a wounded animal; she just wanted to coax him from his shell, much like with Tikki. Begrudgingly, she had to admit that there had been much more time spent with him rather than the feline he'd been compared to.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Thank you. I wish you the best for your health—your attendance must be pretty low lately._ '

The reply seemed polite, straight to the point, and it was honest. There was a strict attendance needed for their classes, and if an individual wasn't up to par, there was always consequences (a few students had been rejected, and kicked out in the past—seniors liked to tell their tales as ghost stories, with dramatic drum rolls from their fingers).

The second message was from Chat.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _My phone's going to be pretty far away for today. Sorry if I don't reply in time, princess. My mother's strict._ '

At least there was warning, she acknowledged with a sigh. Her reply was sent after selecting her food, noting that Manon was nowhere within sight.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Take your time and enjoy it. I hope her cake is pretty._ '

Had they bought cakes from her parents' pâtisserie before? Surely, they had—they had lived right next door. Her family's pâtisserie was considered one of the best in Paris, and they had been featured on television and in different magazines more times than she could count.

The last message made her look warily around the cafeteria, just to make sure the blond male wasn't inside at the time.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me. Sorry I couldn't give you my number myself, by the way._ '

Marinette tugged at her sweater's collar, gulping nervously. This was Adrien; the boy that she'd apparently been friends with, too, and the one that knew somewhat of her _problem_.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Sorry about that. I've been pretty busy, so it slipped my mind. Do you think we could talk sometime? About before?_ '

She wasn't sure where the sudden confidence had come from. Her eyes widened as she read the message, over and over, and she sighed in frustration at herself. Alya's awful advice of using him as a training dummy came to mind, and it was just as terrible as when she'd first heard it. He wasn't someone to be toyed with, not at all.

Adrien's reply came after she'd put her tray away.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _We could talk at Max's event, if you'd like._ '

“Fuck it,” Marinette swore softly, shrugging her shoulders.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Whenever you're free._ '

It was going to come out anyway, wasn't it? She might as well be in one of their presence when reporters finally caught on, and started snapping pictures.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _It's a date_.'

“Oh,” she breathed before she burst into silent laughter, trying to hold in the noise as to not draw attention as she walked quickly through the hallways. It was just such a Chat-like thing to say—just how close were they? Surely, their quirks were quite similar from all the time spent together, even if it had been in secret until recently. Her cell phone was shoved into her bag to prevent her from sending a teasing message back; one that would've been much better suited to be sent to her hazel-eyed companion.

Chat had probably already shunned his phone. Marinette rubbed her elbows for warmth, rocking on her heels in the lobby while waiting for her brunette friend to appear before her with a wide smile. Simon left with a shy wave, and Vincent had scoffed silently in her general reaction (which had caused her body to shake with laughter), and Théo had bumped her shoulder fondly and had offered to stay and wait. Marinette shooed him away with a dismissive movement of her hand, and a fond smile to at his disgruntled expression. It took five minutes for the male to depart, and at least fifteen more until Manon stumbled into Marinette's back, wrapping her arms around her shoulders with a heavy groan.

“I was a bloody errand boy, Marinette,” the brunette sighed, arranging her hair into a messy bun for their journey. She was carrying two bags that day; the usual one, filled with her daily make-up, cell phone, and anything else that she would need, while the other was larger than normal and filled with her clothing for that evening. Marinette offered to take the heaviest bag for the small walk to the apartment, but Manon shot her down with a glare saying she was more than capable of carrying her weight. “These shoes weren't made for photocopying and running to coffee-shops.”

Marinette snorted. “You mean _you're_ not.”

“Same thing.” Manon smirked.

“What have you got in here?” the dark-haired female groaned, tugging the largest bag upon the bus when the other girl had forgotten it at the bus stop. “A brick, maybe?”

Manon scoffed. “Why would I need a brick? I'm trained in martial arts and everything—my hands are lethal weapons. And my shoes are, too.”

A smile blossomed on her lips. “Why can I just imagine you in front of the television, trying to copy techniques from films?”

“I might have done that.” Manon crossed her arms beneath her breasts, leaning back against the brightly-patterned seat. “My mother thought it would help stop the boys from bullying me.”

She blinked. “Boys bullied you?”

“Well, yeah.” Manon rolled her eyes. “I was fucking _five_. My mother lost her shit and placed me in a load of classes after I tried learning by myself. It's probably the best thing she's done to this day.”

Their previous conversation concerning Manon's mother popped into her mind. The topic of her caused awkwardness in the brunette; her posture was guarded, eyebrows furrowed in slight irritation, and Marinette was unsure whether to push further with the subject. It wasn't as though she'd started the conversation—Manon had willingly mentioned her both times, though, previously she'd abruptly ended it, too.

“Mother?” she questioned. “Not Mom?”

“Mom is not respectful,” the brunette replied, eyes firmly latched onto the seat in front of her. “I—she's barely a mother. She doesn't _deserve_ that title.” There was venom to her tone, though it was only just there. Manon wasn't just angry at her mother—it was clear that the irritation was pointed elsewhere, too. “My grandmother raised me. When I was growing up, I'd have to turn on the television to remember my mother's voice. She never called, or visited to see how I was doing.”

Were they close enough to talk about such things? Marinette raised her hand, uncertain whether it was to reach out to comfort her, before dropping it to rest of her thigh. Manon had never introduced herself with her last name, perhaps because of her mother being featured on television (if it was as often as her comment had suggested). They jerked suddenly to the right from a bump in the road, and she was still unsure how to comfort her friend.

“I have amnesia,” she blurted out. Manon perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed in confusion, creating a small crease between them. “There was an accident when I was nine—no one really knows what happened—and I woke up and couldn't remember anything. It was really weird.” She clasped her hands together, focusing on the creases of her skin. “I knew how to talk, of course, and all the skills I'd been taught came back after a few hours of practice.”

Manon was the one to comfort her first. She reached over, tugging Marinette's hand free and clasping it with her own. “Mother used to send envelopes of money addressed to me. They stopped when I was ten. Last year she sent a designer bag—the first present in years—and I gave it to charity.”

Goodness, how messed up were they to openly talk about sad topics in public? She wanted to try and crack a joke, attempt to lighten the mood, but all that came out was, “I don't even remember my best friend. He moved away a few weeks before my accident.”

Manon squeezed lightly. “I want success to spite her—I want her to know I'm worth something, and that I don't _need_ her to succeed.” It wasn't the whole truth. Marinette pieced together the snippets of information to conclude that the reason she had been curious about Chloé was to get her mother's attention.

“I started talking to him recently,” she admitted in a quiet voice. “We—I think our relationship is more than just friendship, but he doesn't know.”

“So what?”

Marinette squeezed her hand. “So _everything_. I don't remember all those years, and we've only really spoken through e-mails.”

“I repeat my previous question: so _what_ , Marinette?” Manon huffed. “This was when you were eight and below, was it not?”

“Nine,” she grumbled.

The brunette rolled her eyes. “ _Nine_ ,” she corrected herself sourly. “I doubt it's that important? There was bound to be a few years of him avoiding girls—the usual girl disease and all. I doubt you were immune from that.”

“You don't understand!” Marinette sighed, running a hand through the tresses of her fringe.

Manon tugged on her hand. “Then make me! Explain it to me, because you obviously haven't got anyone else to talk to if you're telling _me_ this.”

“I…” Marinette trailed off. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Then neither do you since you told me about your mother.”

“You're my personal agony aunt now.” Manon offered a small smile. “You're unbiased, and pretty easy to talk to. I'm sure you'll hear a lot more when I'm tipsy later on, so don't be surprised. But we're getting off topic here—mother problems later, let's focus on yours for now.”

She blinked. “Why in that order?”

Manon raised her upper lip into a sneer that was almost Vincent level. “I'll have to say her name, and I'm not comfortable with just anyone knowing about that.” Her eyes trailed to the occupants of the bus, and an old man in particular looked away when their eyes met. “So that leaves us with just you.”

Well, it wasn't like she could declare her childhood friend's name in public neither. Marinette made a small hum of agreement, thankful that their stop had arrived. They clutched their bags and stumbled off of the vehicle, and set off towards the apartment building with shivering frames.

“Go on, then,” Manon prompted, narrowly avoiding a glob of chewing gum on the pavement.

“Fine,” she grumbled, wondering whether the brunette would continue to be stubborn in the future. “He's really charming, actually. It's distracting and I find it hard to think straight at times.”

To her surprise, Manon choked with laughter, bringing brightness to her eyes. “I asked you to make me understand, not give me the prologue to your love novel!”

“Shut up,” she hissed, face heating up in embarrassment. “I'm setting the scene here. I haven't tried to talk about all of this before.”

The brunette chuckled, and raised her thumb in an encouraging gesture that was destroyed by her shaking frame.

“I contacted him first,” Marinette said. “I just wanted to know how it was, and to see if I could learn anything about when I was little. My other friends that were still around have been really patient, and told me stories while I was trying to piece everything together.” Rose was an angel in disguise; the perfect example of patience and a caring personality. The day when a spunky blonde had burst into her hospital room had been bewildering. “I… I'm not really sure what happened, honestly. One moment I was asking if he'd like to talk, and the next he started flirting and I encouraged it.”

“And you like him?” Manon asked.

She fiddled with her keys, pondering the question. There was an attraction, she could confirm that easily, but it was hard to connect those feelings to the male in person—when they'd conversed quietly, no matter how short it had been, Marinette had felt out of place.

“I think so,” she said.

Both of her flat-mates were home and eager to addition to their household for that evening. Rose was standing in the hallway with a large grin, waving enthusiastically with her free hand, and Marinette immediately noticed the strange additions to the blonde's outfit. She certainly hadn't left that morning and left her in such a state. There was glitter covering her open palm, and sprinkled over her outfit, and there was, without a doubt, googly eyes glued onto the cast as well. Rose had decorated the surface outrageously, and it truly outshined the time she covered her cell phone case in gemstones meticulously.

“Oh, nice,” Manon appraised, waltzing into their apartment with an easy smile, “I'd do that, too, if I had a gnarly cast.”

Fucking _gnarly_. The two of them were going to get on fabulously. Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but they're going to fall off by tomorrow because you're terrible with glue, Rose.”

“So you're Rose!” Manon exclaimed excitedly, thrusting her hand forward to offer a handshake. “I've heard you're a kindred spirit.”

Rose blinked. There was glitter caught in the tresses of her bright fringe. “What—” A loud gasp escaped her lips as her cerulean eyes travelled down to see Manon's violet high-heeled shoes. “I've been trying to get a pair of those! Purple has always been sold out, though.”

“I know, right?” Manon grinned. “I only _just_ managed to get a pair, and I fucking love them.”

“All right, break it up,” Marinette said, clucking her tongue in disapproval. “You can just put your bags in my room, if you want. The only limit here is the shared bathroom, so don't spend so long in there.”

Rose excused herself and told the two of them to meet her in the kitchen when they were ready. Apparently, Alya had taken it upon herself to create a few cocktails to get them into the correct mood for that evening, and there was most likely going to be a few clicks of her camera within the confines of their apartment. It was rare for the trio to have someone staying over, though. Aurore left early in the morning, before dawn at times, and Mylène had cancelled her plans to sleep in Rose's bed one evening before. The only problem with another person staying would be the bathroom routine, most likely.

“Cosy room,” Manon commented, placing her bags onto the floor and sitting down on the mattress. “I especially like the small selection of posters you've got. Do I see Adrien Agreste in there?”

Her face flamed, guilty eyes trailing to the poster in question. “I—well—yeah, I guess.”

“Do you think we'll be able to choose him as our model later?” she questioned thoughtfully. “I've had a crush on him since I was old enough to appreciate boys.”

Well, that was another piece of information that caused Marinette to open and close her mouth awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. “Maybe. I doubt it, though. Wouldn't you want to select Nino?”

To her surprise, Manon scoffed. “Nino, Nino, _Nino_.” She waved her hand dramatically with each syllable. “I've heard enough about him from my mother. Adrien is much better, in my opinion.”

Oh, dear. The hints of information that had been supplied were that Manon's mother was rather popular, from being on television more often than not while the girl was growing up—and probably still to that day—and that she was friends with Chloé's parents, a family that were considered upper-class, and a part of their own crowds. Marinette had read, and laughed about sometimes, negative comments about Nino, but hearing them in person from someone she was fond of was rather disheartening. She couldn't force Manon to like him, but it hurt nonetheless.

“I wouldn't cast judgement until I knew them both personally,” she mumbled.

“Fine, fine.” Manon blew an exaggerated breath out at her hair. “Just don't smite me and I'll be nice.”

“You better,” she retorted. “Please don't go crazy over Adrien tonight, or anyone else there.”

Manon blinked slowly, processing the information. “Oh, right!” she cried. “I completely forgot about that. Shit, this is high-end, isn't it?”

“I… guess?”

“Look at you,” the brunette said with a coy smile. “Shy little Marinette actually has some big connections.”

She wanted to say that Manon had no idea of the extent of her connections, but she bit her tongue and rolled her eyes fondly instead. Manon laid out her dress on the bed, setting a white pair of high-heeled shoes that were decorated with sweet lace around the ankle straps right beside them. Her jewellery was still tucked safely away in her bag, though, just in case they were lost. After a few moments of the brunette begging, Marinette begrudgingly opened a teal-coloured box from underneath her bed, allowing her friend to gently pull out the dress that she'd selected the previous night.

Aurore's birthday party had been themed, of course. She'd jokingly said it was princess-themed to see how extravagant the gowns that her guests arrived in would be, but she'd taken her actual friends to the side and suggested they were formal dresses that weren't overly decorated, and definitely hinted not to wear tiaras or anything else. Although it was a confusing tactic, it had been worth it to see the bewildered faces of Aurore's old class-mates as they strutted through the open doors, dolled-up with accessories and layers upon layers on their evening gowns.

Marinette had purchased a cream gown and altered it herself, especially for the event. The original had a semi-transparent top section that was sleeveless, with a neckline that was modest and covered her collarbones, while the material from the waist down was slightly lighter, and fell dramatically down to brush the floor, while there was a deep slit to show her right leg when she walked. Back when she'd purchased the gown, Rose had been deeply into covering her books and folders with different sorts of gemstones (much like her cast), and had urged Marinette to try the same. And so, she had; Marinette had carefully glued white and golden beads in intricate designs across bodice, and upon ribbons if she wanted to include them within her hairstyle.

Manon huffed. “Well, this puts me to shame. Did you make it yourself, or is it bought?”

“Both.” She smiled. “I just added the beads, actually. It was for a party last year.”

“If this is what you wear to parties usually, you need to invite me—oh, _oh_!” Manon cut herself off, scurrying across the room to pluck a garment of clothing off of the desk. Marinette recognised it immediately, and stilled when she realised just how excited the brunette was to see it—oh, goodness, it was just going to get worse. “You guys really have everything, what the fuck?” she commented, lifting the lingerie so she could hold it within her hands.

It was one of the newest designs for the _Ladyblog_ , and Alya hadn't gotten round to snapping pictures of Rose in the new thong to place in the store yet. Alya had edited the banner of her blog to include a ladybug, and convinced Marinette to add it on the tags of their products. And so, she'd messily drawn one on a small tag on the inside of the underwear, and it was clear that Manon had recognised the design.

“I—”

“Should I just ask you to order me things?” Manon mused. “My internet's actually pretty slow, so by the time I've typed in the details and such, the items are already sold out. I've been trying to get some Lady underwear since they came out.”

What was she supposed to say? “I see,” Marinette blurted awkwardly, unsure of how to continue.

“Are you wearing this tonight?” the brunette asked, lifting the white thong that had a scarlet trim up. “I wonder if you'd see it through your dress.”

“The bottom half isn't transparent,” she explained. “So anything that isn't chunky is fine, really. I wasn't going to… I'm not sure how good that underwear is.”

Manon responded with more enthusiasm than she'd expected. “It's great! There's so many good reviews, and I've heard that some shops are trying to sell the lingerie for themselves.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “Are you a fan?”

“Gosh, yes.” Manon laughed. “Of course I am. I'm secure enough to admit that she's really attractive. And her pictures are really fun to look at. Hey—why are you looking at like _that_? I'm not the only one who thinks that!”

Well, she was the only one to say that to Marinette's face. “You're strange.”

“No, I'm just very comfortable.” Manon suddenly stilled, whipped her face around to look Marinette in the eyes so fast that her hair fell onto her shoulders audibly, and said, “Do you think she'll be there tonight?”

“Eh?”

Manon huffed. “ _Lady_.”

“I…” Maybe. “It's not like you've seen her face.”

“Even so, I'd say she's pretty much celebrity status.” At Marinette's startled cough, she proceeded to say, “What? Have you been living underneath a rock? If you've purchased some of her underwear, then you _know_ that she's a freaking celebrity on the internet. Her identity is a whole big thing, too. Some guy tried to hack the blog and the police were called in and everything.”

Actually, the man in question had tried to hack several different websites, and the police had been involved for an entirely different reason, but that was the rumour that had spread around. Marinette cleared her throat awkwardly, uncomfortable with the conversation. Her flat-mates were the only ones that knew her identity, since they were the masterminds behind the embarrassing blog, but to hear someone that she considered a friend to enthusiastically talk about her pseudonym with such a positive attitude was rather strange. It was like she was having an out of body experience momentarily.

“Down, girl,” Marinette said with a laugh.

Manon stuck her tongue out childishly.

After the brunette had wandered out of the room to find the other two in the kitchen, Marinette stared at the illuminated screen of her cell phone. Her lips were twisted into a frown as she saw that Chat hadn't reply, once again, though he had a genuine reason for that day. Their conversations were slowly dwindling, and becoming less frequent and rather tame compared to before, and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved at that fact. It gave her time to think; to ponder over her choices and decisions. There was one choice she was sure of, though; she was going to talk to Adrien that evening. Their conversation, hopefully, wouldn't be forced, and he knew _slightly_ about her problem. The real question was whether Manon would be attached to her hip that evening, or out wandering the large room and introducing herself to everyone.

Even though she knew he wouldn't see it, she sent Chat a quick message.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I suppose Adrien's your replacement tonight._ '

And in a way, he would be (especially if Alya managed to succeed with her awful scheme).

“Marinette!” Alya stumbled through the doorway into her bedroom, wide-eyed with a maniacal grin across her lips. “Did—did you—”

Marinette recoiled in surprise, and found herself wrapped in the red-head's warm embrace in a matter of seconds. “Alya?” she questioned, perplexed.

The tanned female simply squeezed, making a noise of excitement as she rocked left and right. “We just met our first fan,” she whispered excitedly. “As in an _actual_ fan, not just some guy from around campus.”

“Wait, she told you?”

“Yes!” Alya grinned, flicking the dark-haired female's forehead teasingly. “She came in the kitchen and asked whether we had Lady underwear, too. At first I was pretty nervous, but Rose just chirped that we managed to get a few, thankfully.” A _few_? Her two flat-mates didn't own a single pair yet, because Marinette felt too awkward gifting her friends lingerie, rather than clothing that she'd put effort into. “That girl—Manon, I hope—is talking up a storm with Rose in there. It's pretty great.”

She laughed at the thought. “Well matched, aren't they?” Marinette flashed her a knowing smile; she'd predicted that the two would get along, even slightly. “And before you even suggest it, we're not going to tell her the truth.”

“Well, not without a blood oath,” Alya deadpanned.

“They'll probably fall out soon, though,” Marinette mused. “Manon prefers Adrien a lot more.”

The red-head raised her eyebrows. “How much is a lot, though? I hope you gave her some sort of speech, so she knows that Rose might try and claw her eyes out.” The most the blonde had done previously was whack someone firmly around the face—she refused that it was a punch or a slap—when they'd spoken negatively of her idol in her presence.

“Kind of.” Marinette winked. “I just said not to judge until she knew them personally. And then I mentioned that Adrien will be there tonight…”

“Oh, right,” Alya said, clicking her fingers for added effect. “Look out for Nino for me, would you? I think he might try to withhold information if something happens, and I trust you to tell me.”

She blinked. And blinked again. “He won't be there,” she said without much thought, “it's his mother's birthday.”

Alya furrowed her eyebrows. “Has Rose rubbed off on you?” she asked before bursting into small spurts of laughter. “No—not like _that_ , you pervert! You're turning into a walking Nino encyclopaedia.”

There was a small chance; a minute hint to drop to her in hopes that she'd catch on. “He hasn't told you?”

“No, not really,” Alya said with a shrug of her shoulders. “We don't really talk about our families much, but that's kind of understandable. I'm much more interested to know about him, too.”

What a fucking imposter. Marinette scoffed silently before schooling her expression, unsure of what to say to her friend. “I guess I should get ready soon,” she blurted.

Alya didn't notice her awkwardness. She just shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand dismissively as she left the room, and said she'd send Manon in to prepare for their evening as well. When the bedroom door opened, giggles and loud exclamations were audible, and it was clear that there was a friendship building between the two females in the kitchen. Manon waltzed through the doorway and gingerly closed the door behind her with a wide smile on her face; it reached her eyes, and made her look younger than she really was.

“Your friends are great,” she gushed as she began to strip her clothing off. Marinette blinked in surprise as the shoes were discarded, and Manon's brassiere was fully on show by the time she'd opened her mouth to say, “And they're so freaking _nice_. Rose was trying to make me do shots in there.”

“I was going to offer you to bathroom,” Marinette said while she shook her head, “but it seems you're comfortable here, so continue.”

“I'm a comfortable girl,” Manon retorted, though the spell of her being a confident female was broken when she accidentally fell forward, face first into the mattress while removing her clothing. She huffed, air blown to move the strands of hair from her face. “Well, your bed is comfortable, too.”

Marinette threw her head back and laughed. “Right.”

With make-up fully applied, an evening gown paired with accessories and high-heeled shoes, Manon looked older than eighteen. She fixed her curls in the mirror while Rose clapped excitedly behind her, offering to take a picture on her cell phone.

“Make sure to remember you've got nipple covers on,” Alya advised, holding in her laughter when Manon kept jumping to see whether her breasts would be on show when she moved. “Just don't bend down too much, and you'll be golden.”

“Or only bend in front of the cameras,” Rose advised with a sly smile.

Marinette muttered under her breath, “You're both terrible.”

Her dress was on, and thankfully covered her nipples despite the lack of brassiere, and it still fit her frame correctly. The only worry for that evening for her would be tripping over the long material at the front when walking up steps (if there were any in her path), or shivering too much from the cold temperature. Manon had quite the same predicament, so they could suffer together at last. The only reason she was able to worm herself out of a Lady picture that evening was because the new addition to their apartment that evening had no idea of what was going on between them, and would certainly recognise the gown that Marinette was wearing if it appeared on the blog in a matter of days.

By the time their taxi pulled up to their destination, their teeth were chattering and they were clutching each other's hands for warmth. Marinette idly wondered why she hadn't researched the event more; it was for charity, she knew that much, but what was actually going to be happening inside was beyond her. The only information supplied had been the time, date, and dress code.

“What the…” Marinette trailed off as her eyes spotted the crowd outside the doors. There were men dresses in matching suits—and one woman, she spotted—that were patrolling the rope that made a pathway down the middle, and reporters were swarming the other side, along with fans and others that had come to watch. Marinette watched with wide eyes as the last person that had arrived waved towards the flashing lights before disappearing through the glass doors. “I—”

“Do you have proof of your invitation?” Manon asked, smoothing her curls out.

With a wave to her bag, where she had the message from Max, they paid the driver before exiting the vehicle. Manon was on the side by the curb, so her feet hit the pavement first, and she moved with grace and dignity that Marinette hadn't quite associated with the spunky brunette. She wasn't put off by the murmurs of the crowd, and she walked with a straight back and her head at a normal angle.

When Marinette got out, however, she stumbled and almost fell face first into the pavement. There was the tell-tale flash of a camera, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment from the moment. There weren't many pictures taken after that, however, which she was thankful for. The bouncer at the door had to confirm her identity first the duo were allowed inside, but that was over quickly. Marinette placed a hand on her rapidly beating heart as they passed through the glass doors, blissfully happy that the temperature inside was marginally warmer than outdoors.

“Come on,” Manon urged, grabbing her by the hand.

_PREVIEW: “You bitch!” Despite the harsh words, the voice wasn't full of venom._


	8. 08

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I don't think I've mentioned this on AO3, but I'm considering this identity confusion like the scarf incident; meaning, Chat's not breaking her heart by telling her the truth, so he's going to do something else.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

Whatever scenario she had created in her head, the open hall was astoundingly better than it. There were tables and chairs scattered around the open room, which had a prettily stained wooden floor and cream walls that were decorated with various paintings and sculptures that were bound to be expensive. There was a large bar with different bartenders, and the staff wore matching uniforms that were easy to see.

Manon broke her out of her stupor. “Well, shit,” the brunette cursed, “I recognise almost _everyone_.”

They had arrived at the time listed—Marinette had checked multiple times to make sure—but there were crowds of guests inside, the sound of chatter and laughter filling the hall. There were recognisable faces, and some that were only featured on the internet, but it was safe to say that almost all the guests that were there were famous and thriving with their careers. Marinette pointed out the blonde-haired Chloé, who was sipping a brightly-coloured drink in the corner, and then explained who Kim was, as the personal trainer was chatting happily beside her.

“I'm going to go mingle,” Manon announced with a smile.

Marinette simply nodded and excused herself in search of the restroom. Her intention was to step inside, make sure she looked presentable, but when she pushed open the door and saw a uniform standing by the sinks, she shuddered and closed it once again.

“It's fine,” she murmured to herself.

Although she felt out of place, Marinette found herself waiting at the bar for a server to take her order. She'd seen Max, who was dressed in a deep maroon suit, hopping around the room and greeting everyone as he went by, and she was relieved to see that he greeted Manon with a smile when he found her. Marinette spied them chatting from the corner of her eyes for a few minutes, as she drummed her fingertips silently against the marble countertop.

“Miss?”

She flushed, shooting the bartender an apologetic smile. The drink she ordered was non-alcoholic, as she supposed becoming intoxicated wasn't a wise choice that evening.

The evening began to make more sense when Max stood up on his make-shift stage and addressed the room through a microphone. He thanked everyone for showing up, inserted a few jokes that were mildly amusing, especially when paired with his awkward tendency to push his spectacles further up the bridge of his noise when nervous, and said that he'd be auctioning off a few of his items and donating the money to charity, while taking bets for predictions that evening. There was a digital list of the different predications—such as, A will get drunk within an hour, and H will propose to I—and the numbers were slowly shooting up as individuals good-heartedly donated, even if it was just for bragging rights if things became true.

A perfectly coiffed mop of blond hair caught her eye as she sipped her drink. Adrien, she realised, was laughing with Kim heartily. She recognised the suit he was wearing even from a distance; it was one of Gabriel Agreste's most recent creations, and it was without a doubt stunning. The button-up shirt underneath was a deep scarlet, that looked black in certain lighting, while the suit jacket and trousers were a dark black. The jacket had intricate designs sewn into it; a disarray of swirls and patterns that matched each other absolutely. The only feature missing from the ensemble was the tie (and she was sure it existed, she'd seen the pictures online of the outfit), so the male had decided to leave two buttons open of his shirt instead.

The last item, a pair of shoes that Max had somehow managed to acquire, was auctioned off and he excused himself to mingle with guests again. Marinette sipped her drink and almost choked when a warm body collided with her from behind.

“You _bitch_!” Despite the harsh words, the voice wasn't full of venom.

Marinette stilled nonetheless, slowly turning around to face her attacker with wide—and what she hoped as doe-like and innocent—eyes. “I can explain?” she said weakly, though it came out as a question.

Aurore stomped her foot comically and jutted her lower lip out. It had completely slipped her mind to mention that she was going to be appearing at the event, and it certainly hadn't clicked that one of her best friends would be there, too. Aurore was a vision of beauty, as usual. She wore a strapless pale blue dress, that gathered material below her breasts before fanning out to fall dramatically to the floor. Her golden hair was braided from her temples, and tied together at the back, with her long tresses spilling over her shoulders to make up for the lack of material. Her lips were painted nude and pulled into a forced frown.

“I'm hurt, Marinette,” she said, sniffing dramatically for added effect. “I thought you'd left me here, all alone with Chloé…”

“I haven't even seen you with her,” Marinette pointed out. Chloé seemed to gravitate nearby the photographers that had been allowed inside. There were a few rules that they had to stick to, apparently; stay at the side of the room, don't mingle as a guest, and try not to disturb the atmosphere. And so, naturally, Chloé was laughing overly zealous by a large sculpture, under the watchful eyes of the photographers nearby. “And you'd probably just walk away anyway.”

Aurore pushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Maybe so, but if I'd known you'd be here, I would've dragged you over to talk to her. The awkwardness between you two is just _delicious_.”

“You don't say.” Marinette rolled her eyes. A bartender came quickly when Aurore raised her hand slightly, so she silently took tips on how to flag on down for a later time. “What do you even talk about when it's just you two?”

“A little bit of everything.” Aurore shrugged her shoulders. “She's not actually that bad when you're alone with her—but I doubt you ever will be—and can be quite smart… sometimes.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, trying to see whether the blonde was suffering from a fever. She never _willingly_ complimented Chloé on anything without a snappy remark the next moment. “Are you okay?”

“Please.” Aurore scoffed, happily accepting her beverage without so much as a thank you in the bartender's direction. “I'm not a full-time bitch; it's part-time, and tonight's my night off.”

“Right.” She laughed.

“So who's your plus one?”

“A girl from work,” Marinette replied, pointing to the brunette who was happily dancing with someone she couldn't name. “She's a firecracker.”

Aurore raised her eyebrows. “Down a few drinks and you'll be one, too.”

Without the presence of Rose and Alya attempting to snap scandalous pictures for their blog, it was entirely possible that Marinette could let her guard down, just a bit. And so, when Aurore grinned and flagged a waiter down and ordered two delightful drinks, she didn't object when the cool glass was shoved into her hand. Aurore was covering her flushed face with a soft hand, trying to hold in her laughter at a snarky remark that Marinette had uttered. She smacked the dark-haired girl's shoulder in a friendly gesture, just when Manon raised her eyebrows at the two of them from across the room. Marinette blinked, surprised to see that Max had grasped her hand firmly and was escorting her around the room to greet his guests.

“Is this normal for Max?” she asked, jerking her head in their direction.

The blonde swivelled on the spot with enthusiasm, causing her dress to flair with the movement. When her eyes caught sight of their two friends, she blinked comically. “Oh, no,” she answered, “definitely not. Who is she, anyway?”

“My firecracker.” Marinette grinned. “Her name's Manon, and she's pretty nice, really. I was worried that she'd be a wallflower or would hover awkwardly the whole time.” It was refreshing to see that she was just fine—and what did she really expect? Manon was a social butterfly, especially with the way she charmed her way through the company (and probably her university, too).

“She's really pretty— _fuck_!” Aurore cut herself off, expression turning comically grief-stricken as she roughly placed her drink upon the bar and put her hands on Marinette's shoulders. “I wasn't here, okay? No matter what you're asked!”

Despite the odd request, Marinette numbly nodded and watched with an amused expression as the blonde scuttled off into the nearest crowd, while looking over their shoulders on the tip of her toes to spy who she was avoiding _._ She held in her laughter as the scene soon became clear; Aurore was avoiding Kim, though the dark-haired male looked visibly frustrated as he scanned the room while swirling his drink slowly in his hand. They'd touched on the topic briefly (meaning, her blonde friend had ranted while Marinette hummed and nodded in the right places). Kim had been sweet and kind to her, especially with messages and a bouquet of flowers one week, but that had been shattered at Aurore's party, when Kim had found himself locking lips with Alix. He was still trying to make it up to her, clearly.

Marinette almost choked on her drink when she noticed a presence beside her. Looking over her shoulders, she met a pleasant expression paired with bright emerald irides, and all she could say was, “You forgot your tie.”

Adrien blinked. He'd situated himself to her left by the bar, an elbow propped against the counter while he had a drink clutched in the same hand. “Hello to you, too,” he greeted, and it was clear from his shaky voice that he was trying to hold in his laughter.

Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she chose to sip her beverage and avert her eyes while willing her cheeks to cool down. “He—hi.” Marinette cleared her throat, wondering just _why_ she always managed to stumble over her word around him. “I didn't see you arrive.”

“I saw you, though,” he commented with a small smile. “I wasn't too sure whether you'd enjoy yourself here, but Aurore seems to have taken a liking to you.”

It wasn't common knowledge that she had connection within the room. There were only a handful of people that would recognise her, after all, and her childhood friend had, apparently, had a few worries about her attendance. Marinette glanced at him shyly from the corner of her eye, pondering the different options to start the topic she wanted to approach. Perhaps Chat had asked him to watch over her for that evening—they had established that he was his replacement for that evening, though.

“She's a good friend of mine,” she admitted with a fond smile, imaging the girl in question to be still ducking behind unsuspecting members of the crowd. “I can't say much the same about Chloé, though.” Marinette wrinkled her nose in distaste before stiffening, realising that she'd insulted his friend without thinking it through.

To her surprise, he laughed lightly. “I'd agree with you if there wasn't the chance of her bat-like ears overhearing it.”

It was delightful that he didn't take offense. “That'll stay between us, then.”

“Yes,” he agreed, smile extending to reach his eyes. “Congratulations on your internship, by the way. Nathalie mentioned you in passing over Christmas.”

The thought of his father's assistant mentioning her, even if it was negatively, in conversation was baffling to digest. Marinette took a few moments to compose herself, opting to sip her drink before murmuring, “Is that so?” She wanted to hold some of her composure that usually slipped, though the beverage that Aurore had ordered was stronger than she'd anticipated—non-alcoholic would probably be best for the rest of the evening.

“Although, that pales in comparison to how much a certain someone has spoken of you,” Adrien offered lightly, enquiring gaze on her face as he had a sip of his drink. He made a pleasant humming noise, that was echoed slightly by the glass centimetres from his lips. “I'm supposed to be here to protect you for this evening, but I doubt you need it.”

Warmth blossomed on her cheeks without permission. She flushed underneath his curiously raised eyebrows, and leant against the counter, resting her elbow against the cool surface. “It's strange that you're being proven wrong a lot tonight,” she said teasingly.

His curiosity smoothed out into a warm smile. “Indeed,” he agreed, “but I can't say I'm disappointed.”

It was odd, really. Despite stuttering over her words in their previous meetings, she couldn't help but admit that Adrien felt, well, _familiar_ —he was warm, friendly, and oozed a comfortable feeling that she wanted to be embraced by.

“I was worried about meeting you again,” she found herself saying.

He lifted his golden eyebrows in question. “Do you have something to feel guilty about?”

She blinked. There wasn't a way she could respond without tipping the rest of her beverage back to feel the burn of it on her throat to try and forget the nagging guilt within her stomach.

“Have you been unfaithful, perhaps?” Adrien questioned.

The insinuation was completely out of the blue. Marinette look at him, shocked, with wide eyes and a disbelieving expression while trying to think _why_ he'd say such a thing. But he burst her bubble of incredulity by succumbing to laughter that was sudden, slightly breathless, and wonderful to hear in person rather than through the screen like she had the last few times she'd heard it (and that certainly didn't sound strange in her head). Marinette furrowed her eyebrows at his warm laughter—noting his cheeks were slightly pink from the effort—with a confused smile.

“Should I be worried?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” the blonde murmured, his grin becoming lopsided as he met her enquiring eyes. “Do you not remember, Mari?”

And there was the nickname that her closest friends called her. Marinette averted her eyes, inwardly grimacing as the conversation had taken the turn for the worst so soon. “That depends on what you're referring to,” was her cryptic answer.

The expression on his face was perfectly innocent as he stated, “Why, our marriage, of course.”

It had to have been a joke. Chat would've mentioned if she'd married his cousin in their childhood innocence—or mentioned him _at all_. Marinette raised her eyebrows in return, tucking a stray hair that had escaped her low bun behind her ear. “I thought we were divorced.”

“Only once when I accidentally knocked you out of that tree,” he replied teasingly. “You managed to get a lot from the divorce, though. Nino was a ruthless lawyer.”

The three of them had been together, and the thought of Nino trying to be serious-faced and bartering their possessions in a childhood divorce caused the dark-haired female to laugh fondly. “Did you visit often?” she asked softly, testing the waters.

He finished the rest of his drink, and when she copied the action he ushered the bartender over to them. A non-alcoholic drink was soon in her hands and he'd opted for a glass of water and ice, stating that Max often tried to get him intoxicated without him realising.

“A few times a week,” he admitted, tracing the top of his glass with a fingertip. “Forgive me if I'm intruding, but something you said before caught my attention. You mentioned that you don't remember much?” At her nod, he continued, “Did something happen?”

The response she gave was far too defensive. “Why do you assume that?”

“You asked how often I visited, Marinette,” Adrien pointed out, glancing at her from under his lashes. “We spent almost every day together since we were four—I doubt you'd just forget that.”

Well, _shit_. Marinette stiffened, feeling the tell-tale signs of her eyes growing hot and throat constricting uncomfortably while she willed herself to calm down. The information was a revelation, but it was the perfect time to admit everything out in the open. She gulped audibly and met his eyes hesitantly, fingers twitching uncertainly as she saw the slightly pained expression he was wearing. It shouldn't have been such a surprise, really; he'd said before that they'd been friends, and considering how secretive he'd been with his cousin, it shouldn't have shocked her that he'd stayed away from her parents' watchful eyes.

“ _Crap_ ,” he cursed, and despite how harsh the word sounded with his soothing voice, Marinette found herself smiling at it. He reached out to touch her shoulder in a comforting manner before stiffening, kind emerald eyes glancing to hers to make sure whether it was okay. “I didn't want to upset you—we can talk about something else; anything, really.”

With a couple of blinks, her eyes were dry enough to be deemed appropriate. “I'm okay,” she insisted, boldly pushing his hand to rest on her shoulder, with hers on top relishing in the sudden warmth (familiar, _comforting_ ). “I'll tell you on one condition, if that's okay.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

It was already set in her mind what she was going to say, but when she opened her mouth to utter those disastrous words, it was as if they were plucked from her tongue and had left her breathless. She closed her mouth with averted eyes, unsure on just how _wrong_ it was of her—but it wasn't as bad as Alya's suggestion.

It wasn't mean. “Please don't tell Nino.”

Adrien wasn't an experiment to see how her Chat—because he was wholly hers, while Nino was for the world to enjoy—would react to the news. _Adrien_ was her other childhood friend that she'd been just as close to. It was only natural that he'd find out, too, but it was happening in a different order than it was supposed to. So when the blonde agreed to her single term, once again, a coil of guilt bubbled within her stomach and threatened to make her vomit up the insecurities.

“After he moved—and you stopped visiting—I got in an accident.” The hand on her shoulder squeezed in a comforting manner, and she found herself leaning into his touch. “I, well—” Marinette choked, gnawing on her lower lip anxiously. “I had amnesia; I _still_ have it. Rose couldn't fill me in about you two since you were, apparently, my best kept secret.”

Her eyes were trained on her glass, refusing to look into his kind eyes to see the pity that was surely there—even her class-mates had displayed such expressions when it had still been fresh.

There wasn't pity in his voice, though. “You don't remember at all, do you?” The unspoken question of remembering _him_ was implied in there, causing her to close her eyes to combat the constant burn that had built up.

“No,” she confirmed softly.

A soft humming noise came from him as his hand slid from her shoulder, along the length of her forearm before stopping at the crook of her elbow. He traced a tiny, white prominent line of scarred skin and said, “You got this from falling from that tree I mentioned before. Thankfully, there wasn't anything worse.”

“Oh.”

“I could point out a lot more, but they wouldn't be appropriate for public,” Adrien commented, a lopsided grin tugging at the corners of his lips, “or for our age.” She flushed at the insinuation. His hand slowly trailed down to hers, surprising her thoroughly when he lifted the palm up and pointed just off centre. “You fell on a nail here,” his voice was low, full of humour, “and then tried to coerce me into a blood pact.”

It was hard to tell if he was being serious. Marinette narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged his shoulders in return. “You don't have any obligations to spend time with me, still,” she found herself saying as he released her hand.

“You're still my wife,” he chastised teasingly, “unless you want to contact our lawyer again.”

At the mention of him, Marinette's expression turned uncertain. Although Adrien had taken the news well— _extremely_ so—that didn't mean that he would, too. Both of their personalities were easy going, but Adrien had only just met and spoken to her again, unlike Chat who had been conversing with her for more than a few weeks where she could have easily told him.

“Well, I've fulfilled being your knight for at least part of the evening,” Adrien said lightly, calling her attention back to him. “Until we meet again, then.” And with the correct posture, he leaned down and kissed the knuckles of her right hand lightly with a sincere grin before making his exit and disappearing into the crowd, much like Aurore had done before.

She promptly ordered an alcoholic drink while fanning cold air onto her face with her free hand, wondering _why_ she'd become so flustered from his actions. Being charming surely ran in their family, and the thought of the two of them being in front of her at the same time was definitely overwhelming—she could barely handle Adrien when they were alone.

By the time Aurore dragged her away to join her with a group of her friends, she was uncertain whether the flush of her cheeks was from her beverage or the sweet gestures of a certain blond.

“Kim, _no_!” Aurore groaned, resting her forehead on Marinette's shoulder. “This is not the time!”

“Just listen to me, please?” the dark-haired male asked with wide eyes, and Marinette had to bite her lip to hold in her laughter at seeing the out of place expression on his face. It was a ridiculous scene, really; she'd been happily talking to Manon and Aurore before Max had arrived with Kim, who'd finally managed to corner the blonde he'd been looking for for the remainder of that evening. Chloé hadn't ventured over to them yet, thankfully, because she was held up. “It's not what you think—”

Aurore snorted. “I saw you with your tongue down her throat—and you don't even remember her _name_!”

“I was drunk, and Alice was really friendly!” he defended himself, voice becoming louder. “I'm not proud about it!”

Marinette detached herself from her friend, gesturing with her head for Manon to do much the same. They walked slowly from the scene with increasing amusement, wondering how the scene would finish in the end (Aurore had a killer tongue, and temper, when she wanted to).

“I really love you, you know,” Manon chirped, her voice higher pitched than usual.

Marinette winked in return.

-x-

When they'd returned to the apartment, Alya and Rose were waiting with shots and other such goodies in the early hours of the morning. Only one of the bets had been won and, surprisingly, they could all laugh about it in the comfort of the awful lumpy couch in the kitchen as they giggled over Kim drunkenly proposing to Aurore (who, to their horror, kicked the ring out of his hand). Manon was Marinette's personal shield that evening, as her flat-mates wouldn't take Lady pictures with a fan present, so she drank happily at the offered drinks.

A hand whacked her face in the morning. Marinette squawked in shock, grumbling curse words under her breath when Manon's bushy, curly hair appeared from underneath the duvet with make-up smeared all over her face. The dark-haired female groaned, closing her eyes firmly as the brunette clambered out of the bed loudly and clumsily, in what was probably just her underwear from the feel of it previously, and muttered curse words much like she had.

In over half an hour, she met her guest and clearly tired flat-mates in the kitchen who were all nursing hot mugs of coffee. They slid one over to her instantly, sharing equally flat looks of disapproval at each other.

Rose was the first to break the silence with tapping her nails against the countertop. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Maybe just in lower decibels.” Marinette winced.

“I second that,” Manon quipped.

The red-head who had been silent, opting to sip her warm beverage slowly, perked up at the change of the conversation (or lack thereof). She rolled her shoulders, making a show of capturing their attention before revealing her cell phone from her pyjama pocket. “So, I managed to find a good blog with information about last night.” The screen illuminated with a few loud taps, and the device was turned around so they could see the text through bleary eyes. There were different articles to choose from, each with a tiny image beside the titles, which were embellished and obviously attempting to bait the curious souls that searched the web.

“What the—” Marinette yelped, heart stuttering in surprise from the turn of events. “It's...”

Their eyes finally trailed down to what had caught her attention. She stubbornly ignored Alya's smug expression—as it was far too early to tell her to shove off—as her mind wandered to how her other friends were going to react, or even her parents— _Chat_. From the little image, Marinette was able to deduce what the content was, but that didn't stop her friends (or, rather, Manon) from clicking the screen with curiosity. The title, which was unimaginably named ' _Prince Agreste and Mystery Woman_ ', drew prodding and unwelcome eyes towards her. The image was, of course, their farewell when the blond had taken it upon himself to lightly kiss her knuckles before departing into the crowd—there was another snapshot of him talking alone to Kim and Max afterwards, but his bright eyes were trained elsewhere off camera.

“Fucking _ridiculous_ ,” Marinette mumbled, feeling her cheeks heat up despite herself.

Rose raised her eyebrows slowly and made an odd that was between a trill and a coo. “And here I thought you weren't going to cosy up to Nino's friends for me.”

Choosing to ignore her, Marinette stubbornly crossed her arms below her bosom.

“Well, it's a good choice,” the brunette of the group interrupted—while Marinette took a moment to realise they were a rainbow of natural hair colours within the room. “I didn't see Nino there at all. And I, personally, think this one's way more charming.”

“It was his mother's birthday,” she pointed out.

Rose blinked. “Well, yeah,” the blonde confirmed, running her fingers through the short tresses of her bangs. “Family's important to him; I doubt Adrien would approve of bad mouthing, too.”

“She's got to do _something_ with that morning breath,” Alya quipped.

Manon snorted and punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Isn't Rose the die hard Nino fan? I'm not getting confused here, right?”

The female in question smiled sweetly. “I've already poisoned your coffee—but back onto the topic at hand! No more Nino, don't distract me!”

Manon raised her hands in surrender with a perplexed expression, before surprise coated her features and she turned her doe-like sienna eyes towards the dark-haired female. Her flat-mates were already looking at her expectantly (though, Alya's smile was almost _predatory_ at that moment). With purpose clear in the movement, the cell phone was nudged her way with a painted fingernail tapping on the clear, dancing around the suggestive title. Well, what could she do? Alya knew that she'd slipped up and said B's name started with A, but the real question was whether she'd connect the dots and gasp and prattle on Marinette's nerves with the whole ordeal; because, really, she didn't feel like breaking that awkward idea in Alya's head that she was conversing with the correct Nino.

“Just...” Marinette cleared her throat. “Ask what you want; all I request is that it's one at a time.”

Surprisingly, her flat-mates allowed their guest to participate first. The brunette visibly bounced on the spot, in a movement that was very similar to Rose's excited actions, before clasping her hands together and asking, “Did he ask you on a date?”

No. They were already married, apparently. Laughter spilled from her lips, and all she could do for a reply was shake her head while trying to ignore the bemused expressions on their faces from her reaction.

Alya slowly raised her hand as if she were in school. “First time meeting him?” Her tone was too innocent and contradicted the mischievous glint within her dark eyes.

“No,” she confessed, trailing a hand to rub at her elbow self-consciously.

Rose didn't miss a beat. “When did you first meet him, then?” And the silent question of why she wasn't told was there, threatening her quietly between her friend's cerulean eyes.

“The night of your accident.” It wasn't that much of a lie, right? That _was_ when she first remembered meeting him, post-accident. “I'm kind of the reason that article was published about him that night.” At their equally raised eyebrows, Marinette groaned softly and lent against the counter to shift her weight. “I tripped and knocked him over, so people were able to see him clearly. I just didn't realise, at the time, that it was him.”

She should've specified one question each. Alya leaned forward, scrolling down on the cell phone so they could clearly see the image. “So, was this him thanking you for outing him?”

No, it was just his family's genes shining brightly. “Stop beating around the bush and ask, Alya.”

The red-head shot a wary glance towards Manon, speculating silently for a few seconds before shrugging lightly. “Was little Adrien your play-mate, too?”

Manon's eyebrows were furrowed briefly before she connected the dots. In her excitement of understanding the question, she snapped her fingers and pointed at the dark-haired female. “It's _him_! That's who you were talking about before! No wonder you didn't want to tell me his name.”

It went downhill from there. Marinette wasn't able to get a word in before her flat-mates wore matching grins and looked at her slyly, as in congratulations that she'd been able to amend her childhood relationship—but it was _wrong_.

And yet, she just stood there tongue-tied, neither confirming or denying the accusations.

It was her turn to be selected to be the mule at the company. Her head was pounding from the various shots she'd consumed the night before, and the copious amounts of coffee hadn't helped the situation. When she'd walked through the doors with Manon who was fresh-faced and blissfully happy, she was a harsh difference in comparison. When Xavier selected her to usher around, she was quite content with having her thoughts for company, rather than her fellow interns, as Manon was sure to be chatty about their night together. There were a few familiar faces as she passed through the hallways, connecting them to their sleek and elegant appearances from the night before, though there weren't many glances shot her way that were accusatory.

When she crossed the street to a nearby coffee-shop, Marinette took her time in line to use her cell phone.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Have you been neglecting to tell me things, Chat?_ '

It wasn't supposed to be an accusation; after all, she was clearly the epitome of honesty.

She was still waiting in line when her cell phone vibrated.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _That's a two-way street, my dear_.'

For a moment, she wondered whether Adrien had kept his end of deal (if it could even be classed as one), before deciding it was rude to accuse him of wrongdoings when he'd been nothing but polite and, strangely, supportive.

' _Marinette:  
_ _How about mentioning that I'm married to a certain someone?_ '

She stuttered out the large coffee order, and pondered whether she'd be able to successfully carry the load while fiddling with her cell phone.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Would you believe me if I said because of jealousy?_ '

The answer was no, she wouldn't make it without spilling half of the beverages. Marinette slipped her phone into her back pocket, well aware of the vibrations against her buttocks when the noise of rushing vehicles drowned out the tone of bells. She navigated throughout the hallways, slipping the soft cups into the correct rooms (as there was a small note, indicating which went where). With a sigh, she collapsed into a chair and almost jumped when she remembered where her cell phone was placed.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I apologise for wanting you all to myself, princess._ '

She pursed her lips.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Did you think I wouldn't want you to myself?_ '

Well, that was never going to happen, was it? Not with the way his lifestyle was. Marinette shrugged her shoulders before tapping on her cell phone to check her e-mails for the first time that day, and almost slipped from the flat cushion in surprise when she saw the sheer amount of them. There were a few names that she recognised—class-mates from university or friend of an almost-friend—but there were quite a lot that were unrecognisable. With her curiosity piqued, the dark-haired female trailed through each of the copious amount e-mails with a bemused expression. Other than the ones from Chat that she wasn't going to open in public (oh, _gosh_ , she hadn't replied to his last one for a while), the contents of her parents' e-mail was able to make her smile brightly. Despite the setback of reporters swarming in, as fans had deduced which pâtisserie it really was before the previous evening, her mother informed her that it was going fine, and they weren't willing revealing any personal information without her consent.

There were a few offers for information, which meant a measly amount of money that wasn't all too impressive, while others were simply asking for an interview as they'd deduced that she was the childhood friend of the two cousins. Her class-mates were much the same, too. Asking questions, wondering about her personal life and _why_ she was there that evening, and it made her shift uncomfortably in her chair.

“Marinette!”

It didn't occur to her to check the time. She jumped in surprise from the appearance of her spunky brunette friend, who leapt forward and tangled her arms around her neck. “Hey,” she greeted.

“You're so _lucky_!” Manon groaned, attaching their hands and dragging her away to the entrance. Marinette scrambled to collect her belongings in time when it occurred to her that she'd missed lunch that afternoon from the small grumble of her stomach. “I was attached to the hip of Max, and I'm not even in _any_ articles.”

“Is that why you were so close to him?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

Manon narrowed her hazel eyes in a glare. “No, you imbecile,” she denied, and Marinette was surprised to see a light dusting of pink appear on her cheeks. “I thought we hit it off, but he hasn't contacted me at _all_. If there were articles, then he would've been prompted to follow through at least.”

“Are you okay?” Marinette asked, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “He's shy, so give the man some time.”

The response she received was the brunette jutting her lower lip out, before she looked over Marinette's shoulder and raised her eyebrows. “I'll message you,” she gushed before running excitedly from the front entrance, into the distance. There weren't many things that were able to cause her to run off, and while she tried to wrack her mind for the possibilities, there weren't many that were plausible. Theo, Simon and Vincent had already disappeared for the afternoon, so she hadn't seen head or tails of either of the trio since she'd been assigned the task for that day—and she was thankful, honestly, and Manon was sure to have ran her mouth a lot.

As she shifted the fabric of her scarf, Marinette almost jumped when she heard a voice, “I didn't think I'd see you so soon!”

It took a few seconds to process, but she recognised the low tones before she turned around to see the smile on his face, one that just reached his sienna eyes. “Hi,” she replied.

“I heard you were in the spotlight last night,” Nino murmured, amusement clear in his expression. “It would've been fun to have been there—I don't think we've been together, the three of us, for quite some time.” And he was chatty that afternoon, apparently.

Marinette was suddenly thankful for the blond's helpfulness the night before, as she knew how to respond in a way that would get the male before her to laugh. “You mean, you wanted to be my divorce lawyer again.”

Nino closed his eyes and laughed heartily, and it was a soothing noise that calmed the nerves within her stomach. “I'd always be happy to do that, Mari.” He was just so— _so_ friendly and inviting that afternoon. There was no hesitation in his sentences, and he certainly hadn't held back at calling her her childhood nickname, and yet she couldn't quell the feeling that something was off with their conversation. “Would you like to join me for dinner now?”

It wasn't a date, she told herself repetitively. Even if she hadn't missed lunch that day, she still would've pondered on the pros and cons of going. Their relationship (meaning, _friendship_ ) wasn't a secret any longer, and perhaps Nino was happy from her interactions with Adrien from the previous evening, and that was, maybe, the reason for him suddenly reaching out. It didn't make sense, however. The messages on her cell phone were borderline possessive, even though there was a joking tone within them. She couldn't imagine her Chat being okay—positively _friendly—_ if she were to have males kissing parts of her body frequently; even if that male was his cousin.

And so, Marinette's smile was polite and puzzled as she said, “Okay.”

Nino beamed and reached into the pocket of his bag to retrieve his spectacles, pointing down a direction of a street for their destinations. “Are you still okay with any kind of food?”

It felt like talking to Manon in the cafeteria all over again. “Anything's fine with me.”

“Great.” Nino beamed, pushing his spectacles on and blinking a couple of times at the sight difference. “There's a nice café nearby, so I won't have to flag down my driver for us.”

She just hoped it wasn't too expensive. Her money had mostly disappeared for materials for lingerie—ones that she'd be selling, rather than wearing herself. “Are you sure your schedule will be okay to fit this in?”

“It's fine.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I wasn't going to approach you, for real, until people already knew who you were—and, well, to give you the chance to tell me to sod off, really.”

Very eloquently explained, indeed. “I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter,” she pointed out, tucking a stray stand behind her ear.

Nino blinked. “Well, you didn't reject me.”

She wondered if he was silently insinuating that she hadn't rejected him that time. There were a few ways to answer his comment, but she chose the fastest of, “As long as it doesn't harm my family, it's fine.”

“Do your parents deliver yet?” he asked, rather than the multiple different sentences she'd expected him to utter.

“Not often,” she confirmed. “It's usually when I'm at home, which isn't often any more, and only for loyal costumers.”

He made a humming noise. “What do I have to do to be considered a loyal costumer, then? I'd kill for some of your mother's macarons.”

“You'd have to order a few things for about two years, I believe,” Marinette mused. Then, despite her inner turmoil, she found herself saying, “I could make you some, if you wanted. I usually help out with the baking at the store.”

They turned a corner, and she almost knocked into another body. She wondered whether to send Alya or Rose a message to tell them that she'd be late, but they would probably press her for more information and she wasn't ready to delve into that hole just yet.

“Oh, you're all grown up now.” Nino chuckled and pointed to a location across the busy road. “I'd love some, especially if they taught you how to make them.”

She ducked her head to avoid him seeing the growing blush on her cheeks. The situation seemed very surreal at that moment, however—half an hour ago she'd been collapsed in a chair, sending messages to the very male before her after assuming he wouldn't have the time to see often. And yet, he'd either known that she was still at the company,or he'd ventured there to see—Adrien hadn't been there during the day to use as an excuse.

The café was quaint, and much like the one they were supposed to meet in previously, except it could have been classed as a small restaurant. There were multiple tables with chequered tablecloths and woven baskets of condiments with had space for bread upon each, and the entire space was warm and inviting. Marinette followed the curly-haired male through the little maze of tables, averting her gaze when some individuals gawked and pointed towards him in recognition. When they reached a table at the back, Marinette stiffened in surprise. It was in a corner, so one side had a sofa-like seat against the wall while the other side had two wooden chairs, but what caught her attention was that they weren't alone.

Adrien blinked at her, mirroring her surprised expression before he narrowed his eyes in accusation towards his cousin (idly, she thought that it was more amusing to see them interact in person, rather than through the laptop screen). Nino took the closest wooden seat, rather than the furthest or the seat beside Adrien the other side, so rather than purposely walking around him, Marinette seated herself beside the blond and tucked her hands on to her lap, thanking herself for wearing dark-washed jeans that wouldn't colour from her sweaty palms.

“And the couple's back together,” Nino said with a laugh.

Her face coloured from the comment, and Adrien kept his eyes narrowed at him. “Hello, Adrien,” she greeted lightly.

“Marinette,” he said with a smile, “I didn't think I'd see you so soon.”

And despite her efforts to reign her composure in, Marinette let a bubble of laughter escape because that was exactly how Nino had greeted her, too. She nodded in agreement, looking away from his evergreen irides while trying to make the most of the strange situation. And, well, she was correct in constantly chanting mentally that it certainly wasn't a date—if their childhood was anything to go by, then Nino would have been the third wheel. If someone had told her she'd be sat beside Adrien, with Nino across the table, while horribly hungover while wearing jeans and a crop top, she would have laughed in her face.

Nino motioned to take her jacket off as he did the same, and she was suddenly self-conscious of her outfit choice that morning; Manon had said it was fine for work, and it had been, surprisingly. The higher-ups really didn't mind as long as assets were covered. She folded her coat and placed her scarf upon it beside her, and accepted the menu that was pushed her way.

“Not really dressed for the weather, are you?” Nino questioned with a grin. The two males were dressed similarly; warmly. With trousers that didn't feature any holes of tears (Manon had said how _great_ they'd look while they were working on set), and different coloured sweaters on—a dark burgundy for Adrien, while Nino had a crimson one with a white collar peeking out of the top.

“I wasn't exactly thinking straight this morning,” she grumbled.

“Neither was Adrien.” Nino laughed. “Max spiked his drink towards the end, so he stumbled through my front door.”

The blond in question merely laughed, shaking his head at the re-telling and didn't try to coax the conversation away from his embarrassing performance. “At least I didn't propose to anyone,” he pointed out.

“Chloé donated a load for that—do you think she can see the future?” Nino asked, furrowing his brow while trailing a finger down the menu.

The prices weren't too bad, thankfully. There was a large section of hot beverages, but the menu consisted of many dishes and wasn't limited to the normal lunch selection that cafés usually were (if it could be considered that in truth, when the appearance was the quaint and café-like aspect of it). “It's possible she was the one to suggest the idea to him, though,” she pondered, glancing at the different options. “Chloé was there to see him drunkenly kiss Alix, after all.”

“I thought her name was Alice?” Adrien mused, nodding at a passing waiter to catch their attention; it wasn't the type of restaurant to place orders at a designated desk, then. “He was complaining about that for quite a while.”

“I bet.” Marinette snorted. “Alix is a flighty friend of mine, but I doubt she has any expectations from that drunken... mistake.” She chose her word wisely at the end there.

They ordered their dishes—thankfully the two of them didn't request appetisers, as she was sure she didn't have that much money on her—and the drinks came quickly by a waiter with a megawatt smile that reached his eyes, who recognised the duo instantly. Marinette watched in amusement as he asked for an autograph from each featured upon napkins from the table.

“Does this happen often?” she questioned.

Nino raised his eyebrows, a smug smile flickering across his lips.

“That means yes, it does,” the blond translated with a wry smile. “I doubt you'll ever be wanting one, however.”

“Gosh, I doubt she still has all those slips of paper when we tried to think of superhero names,” Nino said with a laugh, his laughter increasing when her eyebrows furrowed, perplexed. “I shouldn't have mentioned that, I think.”

Adrien's smile grew mischievous. “Why would we ever talk about Cat-Man?” At Nino's visible grimace, he turned towards her with eyes bright with amusement. “Clearly, we were superior to him as we didn't want to become a superhero, if ever. I believe your words were, ' _I'd fall over more times than I'd help someone_.'”

He was a blessing in disguise. Although the situation was certainly not what she wanted, the male beside her was willing to help, in his own way. “That's still probably true.” She pursed her lips. “Was being a superhero everything you wanted it to be?”

“Well, I never said I wanted to wear skin-tight clothing.” Nino grimaced, and Marinette laughed aloud at his expression. His latest film was one that she hadn't quite managed to view in the cinemas yet, though Rose had gone more than a few times and was determined to bring as many of her friends along as she could. “Oh, now that I see your collar—how's Marzi doing?”

With slightly narrowed eyes, Marinette raised a hand to her necklace in offense. She was unsure whether he'd forgotten that Marzi's name had been changed, and gender, or if he was doing it for the benefit of the other person at the table.

“ _She's_ doing fine,” Marinette said with emphasis. Instead of looking at their expressions, she fished through her bag for her cell phone. The screen illuminated and she searched through her folders for one of the only show-worthy pictures of the feline she'd been able to take. “Her name's Tikki now, though.” The image was her favourite thus far, one where Tikki was peeking from behind one of the many obstacles that she preferred to be hidden behind. Although it only showed one side of her face, meaning; one cerulean eye and a few whiskers combined with her short tufts of blazing orange fur, it didn't show the lack of tail that she didn't want to mention.

Adrien was the closest, as he was sitting beside her, so he smiled at the picture first. Nino visibly brightened from seeing the familiar feline, so when he leaned forward and showed her his cell phone with the background picture being that of Nino wearing Plagg on his head, as an absurd hat, she chortled in amusement.

“Do you want to come see him sometime?” he asked.

Her response was to blink rapidly in surprise, unsure whether the invitation was honest.

Adrien picked up on her trail of thought. “Maybe wait a bit, Nino,” he advised, a small lopsided smile appear along upon his lips. “You're going to scare her away already.”

“You're just worrying that you're going to lose the bet.” He scowled.

“Bet?” Marinette questioned, glancing uncertainly between the two of them. She wasn't too sure on how to feel about being the topic of some of their conversations, even though it would have been perfectly natural. “Am I here for said bet?”

“No,” the blond denied, and she almost jumped in surprise when his hand brushed gently against hers on the chair. She schooled her expression back to neutrally inquisitive, hoping it was the appropriate one. “I bet that Plagg would still prefer you over us, while Nino thinks that he'd like me more—he's just wanting the prize for being correct.”

That was a slight relief. “Who does he actually live with?”

Nino shrugged his shoulders. “Wherever he wants, really. Sometimes he stays at my parents place—mostly when we're away on business—but he also alternates between our apartments when we're together.”

“He means Plagg just attaches onto one of us by the doorway, then pierces our skin with his claws until he's whisked away to a new home,” Adrien clarified. The image was quite amusing to imagine, and combined with the perky personality that had been described to her made her laugh. “How has Tikki been?”

They didn't question the name change, thankfully. “She's... okay,” she said slowly, unsure how to continue. “Mister Fu's still happy to take care of her.”

“That's good.” Nino grinned. “I'll be back in a minute. Don't steal any of my food if it arrives.”

When Nino disappeared across the restaurant, she turned towards the blond-haired male beside her with an enquiring expression. “Was this planned?” she asked, unsure whether it was true or not.

He shrugged. “We just arranged to meet here for dinner. Where did he pick up a stray like you?”

“I'm not a cat,” Marinette corrected him with a laugh, “and I believe it's already been pointed out that I have a collar; what stray wears a collar?”

“The same could be said about wedding rings. Have you been a stray, Marinette?” Adrien asked with a coy smile, brushing against her hand lightly on purpose.

In response, her expression morphed into one of mocking hurt. “How could you ask that of me? I'm sure I was a loving wife.”

He grinned. “Most of the time you bribed me with sweet things. I'm still very convinced you were cheating on me.”

“Perhaps,” she murmured, glancing to see whether Nino had wandered back over, “or maybe you just needed a bit of fattening up—clearly you grew up well because of me.”

His lips twitched briefly, as though he was holding back from laughing. “Are you hitting on me, Mari?”

Even though she wanted to give a deadpan answer, instead her expression showed her surprise and to her chagrin warmth blossomed upon her cheekbones. “No,” she choked, “I—”

“I'm kidding.” The blond grinned, showing off the white of his teeth. “You did have a hand in making me better at my job, though.” At her bemused expression, he continued, “When you learned where I was whisked away sometimes, you said I looked like a baby monkey instead a model. You hurt my feelings a lot.”

She tried to wrack her mind to remember any young modelling shoots he had done, but none appeared apart from the ones after puberty (since that was the type of fashion that she was interested in). “But you still married me.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, looking into her eyes, “I wonder why that was?”

Thankfully, their companion returned at that point so Marinette didn't have to stutter over her words while thinking of the correct response. Adrien shot her a small smile before falling into comfortable conversation with his cousin, while she took that time to think about the information she'd been given. Even though she'd wanted to spend time with Nino, she'd foolishly assumed that they'd be able to spend time alone as the only instance they had had together previously had been the fleeting minutes in the cafeteria, and their walk down to the restaurant. The strange feeling was still fluttering into her stomach, so when the food was delivered she made a quick decision.

“Sorry,” she started, avoiding their curious gazes as she gathered up things and wrapped the scarf around her neck. “Here's my pay for the bill—I forgot I have something to do tonight. Thank you for the invite.”

And after the money was placed on the table, she didn't look back.

-x-

There were more than a few e-mails from Chat that had grew neglected.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Clafoutis_

_Marinette,_

_I can't tell if you're not responding because of embarrassment, or whether you've grown tired of this method of communication. If it's the first, I can assure you that you are beautiful._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

His messages grew concerned after that, though, when it became clear that she was simply avoiding his e-mails. The last one was dated from that morning.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_Subject: Tuile_

_Marinette,_

_I apologise if I am bothering you here. If I've done anything to offend you, then I'd like to know, please._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

She was frustrated—but it was with good reason (at least in her eyes). After stretching her fingers and deciding the right phrases and words to use, Marinette chose to be blunt.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Chat,_

_Are you not comfortable with being alone with me? This may seem far-fetched—I certainly thought so until this evening—but those times where we didn't quite meet, Adrien was always there._

_Why? Be truthful with me, please._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

“Be _truthful_ ,” she spluttered, laughing with an incredulous expression.

While her flat-mates were enthusiastic about the budding articles that were still growing, Marinette was barely containing her irritation at the situation. She hadn't spoken to Nino or Adrien since she'd ran away from the café (restaurant), and various faces at university had been buzzing with different questions. Some had the sheer audacity to pass, or slip, notes during lectures which frustrated her to no end. When she slipped into the seat beside Nathaniel, she was relieved at the silence and breathed in deeply to quell her growing agitation.

She took notes during the lecture, while he worked away with his pencils into the sketchbook without paying much attention to the professor's words. The only indication that he was multi-tasking was the flickering of his blue-coloured eyes every few minutes (though, it seemed more like he was taking in his surroundings rather than looking at the professor). As she slipped her bag back upon her shoulder, a stray thought reminded her of a previous engagement. Marinette stilled and glanced over her shoulder at the pale-skinned male who was packing his bag, scarlet tresses obscuring her view of his face.

“Still up for coffee now?” she questioned.

He didn't look up, but the slight tilt of his head was answer enough.

“Is the shop from before okay?”

Thankfully, it was from another tilt of his head. They fell in step beside each other slowly, and Marinette rubbed at her neck self-consciously when it became clear that she needed to start a conversation, rather than participate in one. Although she had heard him talk before (or, rather; he replied once to her and had moved his lips while in conversation with a professor), that didn't necessarily mean he was going to all of the time. And it wasn't set in stone that they'd have much conversation. The silence soon became comfortable for the both of them, and Marinette idly noted that he was an inch or so taller than her, though his shy stature usually hid that fact.

“Oh, it's not very busy,” she commented as they slipped through the glass door.

Apart from a single elderly gentleman nursing a mug in the corner, there were only a few students inside, and there was only one person at the counter. They queued silently, and Marinette had already decided what to select when she realised how _odd_ it might be for the quiet male beside her. Would he take offense if she questioned it, or asked if he'd like for her to order for him? After a few moments of deliberation, she decided to see what would happen—he functioned in real life without his parents, after all.

“A normal coffee, please,” Nathaniel said quietly when it was his turn, and she couldn't help but smile that the only sign that he was embarrassed was from the light dusting upon his cheeks.

When they were sat comfortably on particularly squishy armchairs by a table, Marinette bucked up the courage to ask, “Would it be rude if I asked why you don't talk often?” At the bewildered blink of his eyes, she felt the need to explain herself while holding her mug in two hands to feel the warmth. “I don't mind if you use body gestures to reply to me, honestly; I'm curious because I don't think there's anything wrong with your voice.”And there wasn't, really; the few times she had heard him she'd noticed it was attractive to listen to.

He looked at her with a blank expression for a few moments, before his eyes flickered to their surroundings, as if to see if anyone was near enough to hear their conversation. “It's because it makes me uncomfortable,” Nathaniel explained, and she noted the slightly raspy sound of his voice, though it still wasn't considered unattractive. Marinette tilted her head to the side, shooting him a small smile when she realised she was replying much like he had before. “I—there's been a few... instances because of my voice.”

That was a surprise to hear. “So you're okay, then?” she asked.

Nathaniel nodded, ducking his head to avoid eye contact as he sipped at his coffee.

“I'm glad.” Her smile grew, reaching her eyes. “I'm still going to be concerned if you miss more classes, though. Even Alya mentioned that you were absent before.”

Her cell phone vibrated, and she mumbled a quick apology before checking that it was important.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _I've replied to your e-mail. I thought I'd tell you here in case you've forgotten._ '

Her hand clenched in response unintentionally. Rather than checking the e-mail that she was dreading the response of, Marinette shoved her cell phone back into her bag and apologised to the male accompanying her, once again.

“Oh, where were we?” she questioned, tapping her short fingernails against her mug. “There is something I've always wanted to ask about, though I usually thought against it.” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows inquisitively at that. “Alya mentioned it before, but I was never able to find it, actually—there's a comic where the main character looks a lot like you; he's a prince in it.”

“The prince who lost his voice?” he questioned quietly.

The description sounded familiar. Marinette snapped her fingers in recognition, shooting him a genuine smile. “Yes, that's it! Do you know where I can find it?”

“It's been taken down,” the red-head murmured, twirling his cup slowly in his hands. “It was free online, but it's being adapted into a television series right now.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I couldn't find any of that out, but I wasn't aware of the title so that explains it, I suppose. Do you know when it's coming out?”

“Not until next year,” he answered, looking shyly through his bright tresses of hair. “There's still some details that need to be determined.”

Either he was a fan—which would've been rather strange, considering that the protagonist had been described to be his double—or he was more involved than she'd originally suspected. From the constant scribbling of his sketchbooks combined with the specific classes he was taking, Marinette had assumed he'd wanted to do some sort of artwork later on in life, rather than trying to juggle them while studying.

She took a sip of her drink. “Do you have a comic online?”

Nathaniel spluttered and choked on his beverage, coughing wet and rapidly as his face coloured considerably from the strain of his throat. Marinette reached across, unsure on how to comfort him and chose to pat his back pathetically in an attempt to help. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, voice lower than usual. “What did you say?”

She withdrew her hand, uncertain gaze on his coloured face. “I'm not sure I should say, just in case you choke again.” As if to pacify her concerns, the male placed his mug on the table while avoiding her eyes. “I asked if you have a comic online—just assuming because of how often you're drawing. It would be shame if you didn't share them with anyone.”

Though his face had been flushed from choking, the colouration that appeared that time was surely due to the praise. “I used to,” he admitted.

“Did it become too much for you?” the dark-haired female asked quietly, tracing the rim of her mug with a fingertip. Her mind wandered to the ever-growing fans of the _Ladyblog_ and despite the fact that she still wanted to curl into a ball and cry from embarrassment, she could freely admit there was a sort of pressure for updates and other such things—she had no right to complain when she was benefiting from the store section, nor the fact that they'd been contacted by companies to be sponsored among other things. “I—I'm, well—I have a blog and it's pretty straining, to say the least.”

Nathaniel glanced at her with quizzical eyes and nodded slowly, silently conveying that he was surprised that she wasn't pushing the subject any further than it already had been.

“If you decide to start up again, I'm sure your fans will adore it,” she said with a smile.

His smile reached his eyes. “Thank you.”

-x-

There was another sponsor offer when she arrived home. Alya was positively over the moon, and Rose shared much the same attitude as it was from one of her favourite brands of cosmetics. It was similar to the other—individuals could use codes and gain a percentage discount on products, but in return _Lady_ had to endorse their products by wearing at least one every few weeks, with the product details in the description. A package of different products had been placed on her bed, so while Marinette searched through the different cosmetics that she'd have to wear, Alya was tapping away at her laptop at the dark-haired female's desk.

“So, you're fine with this, right?” the red-head questioned.

Marinette shrugged, unscrewing a lipstick container. “I guess.”

“We're going to be sent free products every month, and five percent of the money made will be sent into that Lady account we set up.” It was on a site online, where they could collect payments without giving out their full names. Marinette's stomach still churned uncomfortably at thought of it being revealed that she was the one featured in the photographs, especially when some of their friends (meaning Manon) had started to view the website. “It'll add up in no time, Mari.”

“I'm not really concerned about the money,” Marinette admitted, sniffing a vial. “I just don't want to be recognised for this—I got enough crap today about growing up with Nino and Adrien. You wouldn't _believe_ the amount of notes that were shoved in my bag.”

Alya snorted. “Tell them to sod off, then,” she said simply. “And would it really be so bad? Lady's considered a celebrity, and you were even in a gossip magazine the other day.”

Marinette choked. “I— _what_?”

“One of my class-mates was flicking through one last week while the professor was distracted. It was almost half a page, from what I saw, and was just mentioning rumours about your identity,” she explained, closing her laptop with gusto. “It was pretty crazy, actually. There's some rumour that you're going to be in that fashion show you're working on for your internship. I laughed aloud at that one.”

At the news, Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please, tell me you're joking.”

“Oh, no.” Alya cackled happily. “There was also a rumour about a film debut, and a particularly hilarious one where someone had claimed to see you in an ice cream parlour with a cat on a leash.”

“The fuck?” The dark-haired female chortled, caught surprised. “Where do they even get these rumours?”

“Hell if I know.” The red-head grinned toothily. “I think we should have a rumour section on the site.”

She snorted. “What, so you can collect them all to laugh at later? You'll probably want a section where others can submit them, too.”

Alya huffed mockingly and crossed her arms beneath her bosom as if she were offended. “You know me too well,” she complained, collecting her belongings while trailing towards the door. “Just make sure to wear one product a day, just in case I decide to snap a picture—they're all spontaneous, after all. Also hide the box from Rose.”

“I'll just give her any duplicates.” Marinette smiled.

Rose did try and find the box of products, though. She wandered in during the dark hours of the evening and searched upon Marinette's desk curiously, not realising that the dark-haired female was awake and watching her with a bemused expression. After she'd failed to locate them, the blonde cursed under her breath before leaving—while falling over her feet—for that evening. After the first picture Alya posted the next morning, which consisted of Marinette dabbing her nude-colour liquid lipstick on while only showing her bottom lip, Marinette passed the container over to the blonde in the kitchen, saying she didn't like the texture of the product on her lips. Rose had grinned broadly and leapt towards her for a tight hug, while the dark-haired female shook her head in bemusement at her friend's attitude.

There were notes during the day again. Aurore had been too busy for coffee that morning, as she was swamped with projects in her classes, so Marinette had nursed her hot beverage while walking to the university in silence. There had been a few whispers as she walked past, but no one had had the courage to ask for more details in person. The most shocking thing, though, was that Aurore hadn't pressed her for more details. She had surely seen how she and Adrien had interacted at the charity event, and surely knew about the information revealed about the press, but she hadn't asked about _anything_. Since Chloé had known the two cousins while growing up— _gosh_ , thankfully she didn't know the blonde back then—then it was possible that Aurore had, too, as the two of them had been good friends since a young age.

Marinette dropped the various parchments into the bin as passed through the kitchen before collapsing onto their couch. It was the first time she'd been alone in the apartment for quite a while, as her two flat-mates hadn't been very outgoing lately. So after checking her e-mails on her cell phone, deleting the ones that simply wanted information, she gnawed on her lower lip while opening the one she'd been avoiding.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Marinette,_

_Is that what you really think? If so, that hurts, Marinette. I admit that I withheld the information that he was coming, but I never predicted that there would be a problem. You two were always close, so I felt that you might have been disappointed if I was alone._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

Her chest hurt. She pursed her lips at the information given, and couldn't find a fault in his logic; well, other than the part that she thought they'd been setting up pseudo-dates, and his cousin had always been _invited_ as well.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Chat,_

_Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I had thought our relationship was more than childhood friends._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

It was blunt, rather embarrassing and very straight forward, yet Marinette couldn't find it within herself to regret sending the message. She wanted _answers—_ not to be the girl that got swept away by his charming comments and misunderstandings. All of the flirty messages and his sweet lines should have meant that they'd, perhaps, pursue a relationship of sorts with each other in person, but there had been barely any progress alone, and that was frustrating her to no end. It wasn't as though she could _ask_ to be alone with him while Adrien was so willing to tell her the information given, and was supportive of her decision.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I've replied._ '

The message was just a reminder, as she wanted the answer so she could quell the nerves buzzing within her body sooner.

Thanks to the peaceful afternoon from her flat-mates being busy at university still, Marinette was free to blast music from her laptop while stitching the different pieces of material to create the lingerie that was almost ready to sell without disturbance. She'd managed to complete two before the cell phone vibrating on the desk caused her to jump and smack the top of her hand onto the top of the sewing machine. Marinette sucked in a pained breath, glaring at the buzzing device in irritation.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _As have I._ '

From the tone of his reply—and the recent ones, too—it became glaringly obvious that they were in some sort of an argument, and it was entirely from her insecurities and the fact that he'd failed to show frequently in the past. With pursed lips, Marinette tapped away at the illuminated screen to load her e-mail.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Marinette,_

_Your relationship with him is more than that, too, isn't it?_

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

He was just so— _infuriating_! On instinct Marinette clenched her fists, barely resisting the urge to throw her cell phone at the wall and watch it shatter to pieces (she prided herself on never breaking possessions in her anger, but that was almost changed). They had been _fine_ , if it could have been classed that, then suddenly everything changed in a matter of an evening. Was it the article that had changed his mind? It certainly hadn't been the previous evening, as he hadn't informed his cousin that she was accompanying them.

“Fuck,” she swore, rubbing at her tired eyes with her palms.

How was she supposed to find out more without giving away her (slight) deception? Messaging Adrien to simply ask if they'd smooched as children seemed idiotic, and she clearly wasn't going to receive the answers she wanted from him.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Chat,_

_Funny you say that now, as you've never mentioned him in the past. Do you think that lowly of me?_

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

It would have been petty to change her line at the end. Marinette threw her cell phone onto the bed, groaning in frustration as it bounced and fell onto the floor. She roughly put her shoes on, tying the laces far too tightly from her flaring temper, and dressed herself in a coat and scarf to brave the weather outside. Thankfully, the screen hadn't been damaged from the throw. After a quick message to tell her flat-mates where she'd be disappearing to, Marinette ventured outside into the cold air and breathed a sigh of relief at the feeling against her flushed cheeks. The walk to the nearest park gave her time to cool down and mull over her thoughts as her feet moved. She situated herself the driest bench and pulled a sketchbook from her bag, and began to draw the different outfits that individuals were wearing as they walked past.

Although it would have been better in the summer time, when the weather was warmer and there was a less amount of clothing, she was researching the current styles for inspiration for her outfit for Sarah for the television show. There were a few options that she was pondering, but there was still an amount of time to go over their decisions to make sure they were entirely happy with them.

Marinette stretched her arms over her head and sighed audibly at the feeling of her muscles moving, well aware that the evening lights were turning on in the park. She packed her things away briskly, rubbing her frozen fingers together while cursing her lack of gloves. There were a few students she recognised from the university trailing through, and even though she should have expected it, when a girl within a group pointed her way and whispered to her friend, the dark-haired female couldn't help but sigh—at least no one had asked her personally for an interview.

Breath was knocked from her lungs as she fell onto the ground, forehead connecting with the pavement, that was littered with gravel from the trial inside the grassy park, and groaned as pain shot through her. The person that she'd collided with was much the same; grumbling softly and rubbing at their grazed hands that they'd fallen on.

It was a girl that she'd seen in passing before. They rubbed their bleeding hands onto their chequered trousers with a scowl, and looked up through her red strands of hair that fell to her shoulders. “Oh,” she said as they made eye contact, expression twisting into a grimace, “I thought _you_ would've learned to be careful by now.”

Marinette opened her mouth to say anything—to apologise, to ask _why_ they were so displeased with her—but she closed it, bewildered, as the girl made a noise of disapproval and briskly walked in the opposite direction.

She couldn't pinpoint how they knew each other.

_PREVIEW: She peeked at the contents of the papers as she sorted them, crumpling the edges in her hands when a page contained pictures of Lady._


	9. 09

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter posted on FF so all caught up here (for now).

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“Thank you, Marinette!” Alya praised with a grin clear in her voice. “That was perfect.”

The dark-haired female blinked, surprised, and met her friend's smug expression with inquisitive eyes. “Did you just take a picture of me... drinking water?” she asked slowly, wondering whether the red-head had started to lose her mind. There wasn't anything relatively sexy about the picture, especially when it was paired with the fact that over three-quarters of her features were hidden from view. “Why?”

Alya made a noise of disapproval. “For your nails, of course.”

“Oh.” They were painted a light coral colour; the only product that had been included in the sponsor package. “Does this count as the sponsor image, then?”

“One of many.” The red-head grinned, showing the whites of her teeth. She leaned back into the sofa in their kitchen, sighing audibly as she stretched her arms above her head. “Now, let's get to the juicy stuff—I heard you've been on a date recently.”

She hummed under her breath. “Marinette or Lady?”

“Probably both.” Alya chortled. “I'm not asking about your alter ego this time.”

When her cell phone vibrated in the pocket of her shorts, she was impressed that she didn't jump in surprise. Her expression moulded into polite interest at her friend's word, and when the red-head didn't notice the panic that had flashed in her eyes, she was inwardly relieved. Ever since her _disagreement—_ if it could even be called that—with Chat at the beginning of the week, Marinette had avoided her e-mail like the plague. Her parents had ended up calling up the previous evening since they hadn't received an answer from her (though, they were mostly worried that reporters had caught up to her, rather than the possibility that she'd been kidnapped).

“Then I'm afraid you're mistaken,” she replied casually, retrieving her cell phone and gazing at the illuminated screen to see the name that had contacted her. With the amount of restraint she was showing with her expressions that evening, Marinette was sure she could have a career in acting if she wished. “I had coffee with a friend on Tuesday—yes, a _male_ friend, Alya—but that was it.”

The message made her heart jerk uncomfortably in her chest.

' _Prince Chat:  
Please don't avoid me forever, Marinette._'

Even if she was damned, she was still going to try. Marinette swiftly put her cell phone away and flashed the red-head on the sofa a polite smile, hoping that she'd accept the prompt to delve into further questioning—because, at that moment, dealing with Alya's inquiries about her romantic conquests was a lot easier to deal with than face her trembling feelings.

The only problem was that Alya had a different idea. “You're not a good actor, Marinette,” she started slowly, raising her eyebrows slightly as the dark-haired female stiffened. “I know you, girl. I've seen you develop _breasts_ , and go through your awkward stages!”

“I wasn't _that_ awkward,” Marinette defended herself weakly, rubbing the back of her neck self-consciously.

“And I'm a supermodel,” the red-head deadpanned.

Her muscles relaxed at the attempt at humour. “You could be in your leather pants,” she said with a straight face, “I can almost see my reflection on your ass at times.”

Alya's red-stained lips curled into a mischievous grin. “That's just how I want it.”

She scrunched her nose in distaste. “How is that boy-toy of yours lately?” Calling him by the incorrect name seemed offensive, so the handy name for him would have to suffice—it was as if Alya was going to use a codename like she had. “Has he seen his face on your ass?”

The red-head snorted, throwing her arms to rest on the back of the sofa. “Not yet.” She winked purposely, taunting. “We're taking it slow again, so I'm not allowed to send naughty pictures any more.”

“Any more,” Marinette parroted with a neutral tone. “I had no idea just how _open_ you are—and that doesn't mean just your legs, you minx.”

“What's the point of being shy and docile?” She shrugged, head lolling back to gaze at the ceiling. “I may not have had any luck with men around here, but that wasn't from lack of trying. But now—with him—there's someone interested in me and we're not doing some weird mating dance around each other.”

She blinked. “Except you're taking it slow now; are you trying to tell me they're two different things?”

“I've got to keep some of the mystery, Marinette.” At the snort she received in response, Alya narrowed her eyes at her across the room. “Being a tease isn't a crime, nor is it considered bad manners. Are you just being sour because of the lack of nudes you're receiving?”

It was her way of fishing for information. Marinette stubbornly crossed her arms beneath her bosom, raising her eyebrows at the red-head. “Did you really think I'd spill everything at that little jab? And I'm _not_ showing him any of myself—the only picture I've sent is actually the one you took before.”

The response she got almost made her jump in surprise for the second time in that small amount of time. Alya groaned loudly, allowing her face to fall into her open palms. “ _Why_? You're absolutely terrible at being a seductress, Marinette!”

She rolled her eyes. “Then give me a guidebook on what to do,” the dark-haired female replied sarcastically, almost missing the contemplative expression on her friend's face. “That was a _joke_ , Alya. Don't you bloody dare.”

Alya jutted her lower lip out with a sour face.

“Nor do I want you to e-mail me magazine articles about the female body—I'm still traumatised about the one about finding your own g-spot, honestly.”

The tanned female's lips twitched. “You can't deny that it was informative, though.”

“That's besides the point.” She scowled. A stray thought was swirling within her mind from the brief mention of Nathaniel, so she decided to try and sway the topic of their conversation into safer territory. “Do you remember that comic you mentioned before? With the prince that looked like Nathaniel?” At Alya's enthusiastic nod she asked, “Do you know why it was taken down?”

“Last time you asked about that, you just said it was impossible to find—why are you asking again now?”

Marinette made a noise of frustration. “It came up in conversation with someone else. I was wondering if you wanted information about it; actually, I don't even know if you _liked_ it.”

“Of course I did,” Alya replied, clasping her hands together. “It was one of my favourite comics before the artist took it down. The blog disappeared, too, and there weren't any copies on other websites.”

That was a surprise to hear. Marinette absorbed the information, unsure whether telling the red-head that she'd heard the news from Nathaniel would mean that Alya would attempt to purse conversation with him (which would be after intensive questioning of _why_ they were conversing normally).

“It's being turned into a television series,” she revealed, tapping her fingers on the countertop. “There's still some details that need to be sorted out, though. I don't know anything else.”

When Alya moved within a flash and grasped the dark-haired female's hands excitedly, Marinette _did_ jump in shock for the first time. The red-head squeezed her hands enthusiastically asked, “ _Really_? You're sure?”

“...Yeah.” She didn't think Nathaniel had lied.

“ _Yes_!” Alya cheered, throwing her arms around her shoulders and hugging her tightly. “It's not going to be released for ages but I'm so excited! Do you think the teaser will be out soon? Or character designs? Do you know if it's animated or—”

Rather than trying to keep up with the red-head's rapid fire questions that were going over her head, Marinette rocked slowly on her heels and made noises of agreement every few sentences, idly wondering whether Nathaniel was the creator—it was plausible, she realised. Her friend was an avid fan and hadn't been able to uncover the news, while the male had freely admitted the information during their time together. Then again, he could have been a close friend of the creator, and that was the reason why the main character resembled him. Marinette hummed as Alya pulled back, grinning happily and started to drag her in the direction of her room.

“Alya?” she questioned, unsure on what she had signed herself up for.

The red-head paid her no mind. “I'm sure you'll love it,” she announced, placing the smaller female onto her bed and quickly turned the laptop on and hooked it up to a television screen within the room. “Even if you don't like the story line, the outfits are _really_ pretty. As in, gala worthy at times.”

Apparently she'd signed herself up to watch a show of some sort. Marinette watched with a bemused expression, settling herself into the mountain of pillows on Alya's bed and watched the screen become illuminated and a video slowly take up the screen. Alya settled in beside her, linking their hands together and visibly vibrated with excitement from sharing her interests. It was endearing, really; much like Rose when she shared her obsessions, too.

“Anything important you'd like to point out now?” she asked lightly.

Alya shook her head, gesturing to the screen with her index finger.

It was an animated series that had a bright opening theme and scenes, which showed a lot of violence and psychotic smiles at the same time. It was a crime drama, from the first real scene within the small office of detective unit. Alya had given her the task of guessing her favourite character by the end of the first episode, as that would be late enough for Marinette to whisk herself away to the safety of her bedroom. When the main character came onto the screen, she wasn't expecting much—he had lacklustre brown hair and nothing too impressive with his appearance (the only reason she knew he was the protagonist was because of the opening scenes), so when he opened his animated mouth and began to grumble about a criminal on the rise, she stiffened and barely kept herself from gasping aloud.

She _knew_ that voice.

The episode ran for the duration of twenty-four minutes, and by the time the ending credits came around, she leaned forward in bed and squinted to see the text appearing on the screen better.

“Silencieux?” Marinette questioned, the name feeling uncomfortable on her tongue.

“If that's your guess, then you're correct.” The red-head laughed, clasping her hands together loudly it what seemed to be a single clap. “He's my favourite voice actor, so, of course, I have to appreciate the characters he plays.”

She tried to avoid catching sight of Alya's hazel eyes. “Do you know anything about him?”

Alya turned off the television screen and swivelled the laptop around. “Not really,” she revealed, tapping away at the keyboard without turning to look at her, “voice actors are sometimes really mysterious, and I think that just helps with their appeal, really. Silencieux has some social media accounts, though.”

It was possible there was a mistake, one that would have been quite embarrassing, but the pieces of the puzzle were fitting together astoundingly perfectly. She'd spent a good hour with Nathaniel, with the shy male actually _talking_ , and she was certain that it was his low, melodic voice that had came from the television. Him being his alter ego—a secret identity, certainly—of Silencieux explained his sporadic absences from university, along with the titbit of information he'd given about why he didn't like to converse often. He'd claimed that there had been a few _instances_ because of his voice! Surely, if he was able to woo the likes of Alya with the low tones of his voice, then a lot of others had to have been his fans, too.

“How long has he been active?” Marinette asked, trying to control her tone.

Alya hummed, thinking aloud. “Eh, I— _oh_ , for about three years now. Almost four, I believe. His first series was a success and he only became more popular after that.” That would've been before, or after, Nathaniel's sixteenth birthday. His voice would've been deep for his age, so there was still the possibility that her theory was correct.

It would have been awfully mean to reveal him, though. It was akin to someone outing her to be Lady. If Nathaniel was as popular as Alya was making him out to be—someone who had a astoundingly popular selection of fans, who supported each of his works—then it was plausible that she had a comrade whom she could talk about the dilemma of the blog to. The only problem was broaching the subject with him, though; if he really was Silencieux, then he was taking a gamble and assuming that she wouldn't recognise his voice.

“Thanks for showing me this, Alya.” Marinette grinned.

-x-

When she arrived in the usual room at the company Vincent was the only one within the room. Although there was another bag beside him—while his was by his feet—Marinette deduced from the pattern that it was Simon's, and that he'd wandered off while waiting for the rest of them to arrive.

“Hello,” she greeted, attempting to coax the blond male into conversation.

Vincent crossed her arms, staring adamantly at the door. She bit the inside of her cheek to restrain herself from laughing aloud; since it had became clear from Théo's explanation of the male's character, it was almost adorable how awkward he was in a female's presence. Was he like this with higher-ups, too? Certainly, an all male's university had a few female teachers, and there was the matter of Penny when they swapped over their roles within the company—so he couldn't be completely hopeless with the opposite sex, could he?

The sleep faces of her fellow interns came slowly. Simon came back with a steaming cup of coffee, which was as cheap as it smelled, and she was surprised to see that he passed one wordlessly to her, and with a slight nod towards Vincent. The blond pursed his lips and muttered a quiet word of thanks, all while avoiding her gaze, still. Théo trudged in soaking wet from the sudden downpour of rain outside, and she couldn't hold in her laughter at his disgruntled expression.

“Y-you—” Marinette chortled, holding a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “You look like a drowned cat!”

He shivered violently. “The _sexiest_ drowned cat you'll ever see,” the male retorted.

“If she's into that kind of thing, sure.” Manon strut through the door, flashing the brunet a sadistic smile when he noticed how dry and perfectly groomed she looked. “I've heard our girl Marinette's into more... _popular_ things, rather than common house-cats.”

Oh, _no_. She narrowed her eyes at the smaller girl, hoping to convey the message that the conversation needed to _stop_ going in the direction that it had been pushed to.

“Oh?” Théo asked, removing his drenched jacket—that didn't have a single dark spot of water, as the whole thing was soaked—with a frown. “Are you referring to her boyfriend, you troublesome sprite?”

Manon smiled, showing off her incisors. “Of course I am.”

“No, you're not,” Marinette chastised, crossing her underneath her bosom. “Adrien already has a girlfriend.” She had no idea if it was true, but the sheer want for the gossip between the two of them to stop caused her to blurt it out. “I... I can't say who it is.” He had mentioned to liking someone—as had Nino—on their last webcast together, so, perhaps, he had bucked up the courage and confessed.

Théo raised his eyebrows and hummed, making it abundantly clear that he wasn't believing her words.

The other female was more vocal about her distrust, however. She made a noise of disagreement and loudly sat down in a free chair, purposely scooting away from the wet male so there wouldn't be any water droplets on her outfit, no matter how little. “Well, if you say so,” she murmured, so only the two of them could hear. “Max and I were rooting for you both, though.”

She blinked. “Have you been started to talk yet?”

“Well, yeah.” Manon sniffed. “It took only half a bloody week—that boy sure knows how to play hard to get. Now I'm getting hearts in every message.”

The second description of their conversations suited the dark-skinned male a lot more than the first; he'd probably followed Chloé's advice, if anyone's at all, about how to deal with the situation of flirting with a girl (after all, Aurore had revealed that he was about as talented at dating as he was at river dancing). There wasn't time to respond to her, as the doors open and Xavier swept in and announced the tasks for that day. Manon was the one selected for running around as their errand person that day, and Xavier only laughed as she moaned loudly and put her face on her arms upon the table. When they began to trial out to go to their designated, her expression grew concerned as Xavier pulled her to the side.

“Marinette,” he started, as they were certainly casual and felt that last names were only used when an individual had truly messed up, “I've been asked to talk to you.” At her quizzical expression—that was slightly scared, too—he began by saying with a firm tone, “It's come to our attention that you may, or may not, have a personal relationship with some that you're working with here.”

And there it was. She stilled, unsure whether her opportunity was going to be sullied because of simple connections that she hadn't taken advantage of. “Sir...”

He held a hand up to quieten her. “If this had came out before we'd selected you, then we'd be singing a different tune. There's a week left of you in my department, so I can only protect you for so long. Penny would like to see you in her office immediately; you can return to work normally after that.”

She nodded stiffly, uncertainty brewing and knotting uncomfortably within her stomach. “Thank you, sir,” she said quietly.

“You're good at what you do, Marinette,” he replied, voice softer than before, “without these connections of yours, you would have made it by yourself.”

It was high praise, indeed. She nodded, not trusting her voice not to crack. He motioned with a hand for her to disappear and search for Penny's officer, and that's exactly what she did. Marinette almost tripped as she rounded a corner, spilling apologies from her lips from the disgruntled expressions on the employees. Penny's office was on the other side of the company, she knew, on the left of the cafeteria and onwards, rather than the right. She didn't catch sight of any of the other interns to tell them that she'd be late, and she didn't see Manon trudging along as though she were walking to her death from doing chores. When she rounded the corner after climbing up a flight of stairs, she groaned quietly to herself at the sight of the hallway. Penny's office door was open, with no one inside, and there were a few individuals simply walking through the hallway without a care in their modelling clothes; it was clear that there was a shoot that day, and, apparently, it had called Penny's attention elsewhere.

Her original plan was to wallow outside of Penny's office and hope she'd show up eventually, but there was drawbacks—mainly, she might be sidetracked for more than thirty minutes and therefore the dark-haired female would miss quite a lot of her internship that day. As Xavier had said, the next week was the final one; therefore meaning they had to present the outfits they'd made for their assigned characters to be judged accordingly.

Marinette tugged on the collar of her dress, suddenly feeling flushed.

The new plan was better, marginally. Marinette cleared her throat to catch the attention of the nearest model who had their back to her, and was surprised when she recognised the face when she turned around. Mireille Caquet with her beautifully tanned skin, bright hazel eyes and shining black hair that was chopped messily by her shoulders met her eyes with an equally surprised expression.

“I recognise you,” Mireille started, knitting her dark eyebrows together. The unspoken question of _why_ was hanging in the air.

Marinette tugged on her dress' sleeve self-consciously. “I was a first-year at university when you were in your third.” It didn't clarify enough. Marinette nervously shot her a small smile, hoping that she'd reveal the information she needed rather than share awkward small talk.

“Oh!” Mireille gasped before breaking into a grin, shocking her by reaching forward and clasping her hand enthusiastically. “I recognise you _now_! You're the one that Chloé always grumbled about.”

She made a strangled noise of protest. Mireille, however, had other plans and grinned wider to show off her white teeth. Marinete was cut off before she could say a single syllable by the tanned girl giving her a tug and pulling her along through the hallway, opening a red door with a bump of her hip and waltzing inside with an awkward tag along in tow.

“Hey!” Mireille called the room to their attention, waving enthusiastically in the air. “When's the new girl shooting?”

It became apparent that she was referring to her. Marinette gaped before fixing her expression to meek and rather terrified. “I— _Mireille_ ,” she tried to catch her attention, but it was to no avail. The tanned female had pulled her towards a group of models who were all smiling, though a few were rather strained. “H—h _-hey_!”

“Hello,” they replied, amusement clear in their tones and expression now that they'd heard her stutter in their presence.

Within the middle of the group, a woman with blazing red hair knitted her eyebrows together. “There's no one new scheduled for today,” she stated slowly, emerald eyes flickering between her and Mireille. “Are you sure she's here for that?”

It was the little push she needed. “I'm not,” Marinette said after clearing her throat. “I was looking for Penny when she— _I_ —oh, got distracted.”

Mireille blinked. “Well, why didn't you say so, silly?” Her laughter sounded delightful, and her smile was genuine as when she apologised quickly. “She's just over there, talking to Nino quickly.”

 _Oh_. “Thank you.” Marinette gulped, eyes following where the tanned female had pointed.

The models wished her good-bye as she walked slowly across the room, determined not to trip and damage the inside of the set while gnawing on the inside of her cheek in anxiety. Nino wasn't the type to make a scene, was he? He was a good-hearted male, and it was entirely normal for two persons to be involved in a fight. He wasn't going to speak up and create more of a problem at the company than had already happened without him knowing. And as she'd been told, Penny with her freshly dyed purple hair was standing conversing with a taller Nino, who was smiling while animatedly contributing to the confusion.

He caught sight of her first. Nino blinked in surprise before grinning, raising a hand in greeting. Penny caught attention of the movement and looked over her shoulder, her features contorting from surprise to realisation quickly. She shooed the dark-haired male away quickly, and he didn't give a second glance at her, thankfully, as he walked away in the opposite direction. Marinette rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously, unsure whether that was the desired response she'd wanted from him—he'd been friendly, but politely so, as he would with anyone else. It wasn't the fact that she wanted to garner a special reaction from him, but a more _real_ one; one that would portray the strain they currently had on their relationship, rather than treating her like someone he was acquaintances with.

“I apologise for not being in my office,” Penny started, drawing her attention back in, “we'll go there now to continue this conversation.”

And with a gesture of her hand, they were walking briskly through the hallway before stopping in front of the office. Penny went in first and held the door open, allowing the dark-haired female to walk in timidly. It wasn't how she'd expected it to be. While the room was painted a soft ivory and the desk, chairs, and coffee table in the corner were stained a beautiful light brown, there were papers thrown everywhere and folders on almost every surface. Penny collected a few of the selected folders and flicked through them as she sat on her plush white chair, and Marinette sat down gently on a stained oak one that had a white cushion upon the top. The older woman hummed as she searched through her files, making a louder noise when she grinned and pulled a photograph out from one of the folders.

She pushed the shiny photograph across the desk, eyes trained on the dark-haired female rather than the image itself.

It should have been expected. It was a photograph that she hadn't seen before—perhaps it had been in Adrien's possession—but she expertly schooled her expression so it wasn't clear that she had absolutely no _idea_ when it had been taken. From the lack of felines, she was assuming it was before they'd appeared; she was still missing a tooth, though. The three of them were stood together against a large tree, that was now a stump in Alya's garden as it had been cut down, with matching grins and brightly-coloured wands in their hands with bubble surrounding them. It was obvious what they had been doing, yet her eyes were drawn to how they were posed specifically. Nino was on the left beside Adrien, standing at least a step away, while Marinette had her arm intertwined with the blond, which looked quite awkward with how small their limbs were. Slowly, it was becoming obvious why it had been assumed there was more between them.

“This is you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Penny started, tapping her finger upon Marinette in the photograph, “and this is Adrien Agreste and Nino Lahiffe.”

There was no need to say it aloud. “...Yes.” She resisted the urge to tug at her collar from the use of her last name.

“There have been a few... concerns about how you were awarded your position,” the tanned woman started, her fingers tapping in a consistent beat. “I, however, don't believe that you were able to sway Nathalie Sancoeur with your friendship of her boss' son.” Well, that was a relief to hear, but didn't rule out the reason for her being within the office or being referred to by her last name. “I'm well aware that you've received a lot of interview offers, and I've personally been in touch with your parents about this,” she elaborated, circling her fingers around the two boys' faces. Marinette's heart beat uncomfortably within her chest at the mention of her parents—they hadn't told her that the company had contacted them; they were selected as her emergency contacts, but that was all. “I would like to interview you for our magazine.”

Marinette blinked, bewildered. “I don't—”

“Think carefully, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” Penny gave her a smile, but it was a borderline smirk combined with the glint in her eyes. “If another magazine caught wind that you were working here, wouldn't they assume that it was because of your connections?” Her smile grew, showing her incisors off as she raised her eyebrows. “We, of course, know that that isn't true, don't we? Therefore, it'll be much better coming from the source... Miss Dupain-Cheng, your interview here would much help you further your future career.”

By broadcasting that she had relationships within that particular line of work. Marinette gnawed on the inside of her cheek, realising how _true_ Penny's words were, though they were equally buffered by her extreme want to stay hidden with that information. “I don't want to say much,” she said slowly, “I want this to be because I earned it, not because of them.”

“Of course,” Penny agreed, turning the photograph around slowly. “Will you agree to this, then?”

“I—” Marinette cut herself off, clearing her throat. “What do you have in mind for this?”

Penny's dark-stained lips curled into a victorious grin. “Just a small article, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” The conversation was still on last name basis, apparently. “I'd like to for someone to ask you a few questions, and to include this photograph within it. We won't release a new picture of you, unless you'd prefer that.”

She shook her head. “That should be fine.” And it should. She could be vague enough to breeze through the questions, and it certainly wasn't like they were expecting her to spill their deepest secrets with a single interview. Nino had been conversing with Penny easily, and the photograph had, most likely, appeared from his possessions and given in, prompting to exchange between them. It was another subtle reminder of _why_ he was suddenly insisting that their relationship had a strain after seeing her and the blond together, once again—but hadn't he been _happy_? It didn't seem appropriate, right or even the expected response from him.

“Come down here tomorrow morning,” Penny interrupted her inner monologue. “I will talk to Xavier, and then you can have the rest of the day off.”

It was unclear whether that was supposed to be a reward. Marinette curtly nodded in agreement, swallowing the self-conscious comments that were resting upon her tongue, and smoothed the wrinkles on her dress as she waked briskly through the hallways. There weren't any models lingering within the rooms any longer, nor was the dark-haired male anywhere to be seen.

When she returned to the rest of the interns, they didn't ask questions. The actors were kind and welcoming, and even invited the small group out for drinks that evening, if they were free. Marinette politely declined, as she'd planned her evening with Alya, watching more of the series they'd started while eating overly seasoned food they were planning to order. Manon hugged her tightly and promised to update her on any gossip that was uttered over drinks, and the dark-haired female spluttered and laughed aloud of the thought of having a mole within a bar.

On her bus home, she gnawed on her lower lip while staring at her cell phone in consideration.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Just a heads up. My boss is running an article about the three of us, including a photograph and a small interview from me tomorrow._ '

If she was in the position where she was unaware of what was happening, having someone warn her would've been heavenly. She sent the message to Adrien, unsure whether Nino had told him beforehand of the possibility.

As she was settled in on Alya's bed, waiting for her food to cool, she hadn't expected the chimes of her cell phone to interrupt the opening song, which she'd found out Silencieux had _sang_. Alya threw her cell phone over with an impatient noise—that had nothing to do with her mouth stuffed full of rice—and gestured wildly to the screen.

Marinette rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _Thank you for the warning. I didn't think you'd give into an interview, though. What changed your mind?_ '

It was strange how well he remembered her personality. She threw the cell phone to the side, deciding it was best not to go out of her to respond to the two cousins—or, specifically, the one that had caused the irritating troubles by being overly friendly—and promising herself that she'd respond to her Chat when the time was right.

After the third episode had ended, Marinette's stomach was full and she felt warm and perfectly content to stay in bed with her friend, she clawed at the duvet to reach her cell phone.

' _Marinette:  
_ _I got called in at work and it was basically do the interview or get fired, if I read between the lines correctly._ '

Feeling particularly meddlesome, she sent a message to Nathaniel asking whether he was a fan of the show they were watching. Would he think she was too obtuse to connect the dots—or was she really delirious for assuming it was him? It made sense, still, in her mind. So when he responded saying he hadn't had the chance to watch it, but had read reviews and such, she hid her smile behind her cell phone so Alya didn't catch on to her mirth.

“The next one's pretty... emotional.” Alya traced upon the touchpad of her laptop idly. “But it's also Nino's favourite.”

It was a little slip of information she didn't need to know about the imposter. “Is it?” Marinette hummed. “Fascinating.”

From her peripheral vision, she could see the red-head scrunch her features in distaste. “I thought you'd like to know that.”

“You can keep lover boy's information to yourself,” she replied, lips curling into a polite smile. “It's confidential that you're talking dirty—or talking _at all—_ isn't it?”

Alya pursed her lips. “All right—what crawled into your ass and died?”

Marinette ran her fingers through her fringe, sighing. “Sorry,” she apologised half-heartedly. “I'm just a bit flustered today. This has helped, though. So thank you for that.”

“Is it because of the interview?”

She blinked. “...How?”

Alya tapped her nose knowingly. “You can be as vague as you like, Mari. Only the three of you—well, just those two, actually—will know if it's the truth.” At the dark-haired female's frustrated groan as she leaned back into the stack of pillows she'd created, she laughed fondly. “There's no point stressing yourself out about this.”

“I doubt I'll be able to steer the questions where I want them to go,” she grumbled.

“You can't put them in the bin,” Alya deadpanned.

Marinette rolled over, pressing her face firmly into the fabrics.

“Listen,” Alya commanded, snapping her fingers together to catch her attention. The smaller female didn't flip over, and instead shuffled further into the mound of pillows. “ _You_ will be fine. If they ask, the story is simple—they were neighbours who you played with in your innocent youth, and their cat fucking _loved_ you. The end.”

She grumbled into the pillow before realising she couldn't be heard. “People already know that,” was her grumpy reply. “Someone's going to be a real ass and ask about my relationship with Adrien—not Nino, because there's been no photographs of us two together. Not even a cell phone one from the restaurant the other day.”

“Restaurant?” the red-head parroted, puzzled. “When did you go to a restaurant, Mari?”

The first reaction that appeared was for her to still and breathe a sigh of relief that her expression wasn't visible the other day. “Not the _date_ you heard about,” she clarified, just to make sure, “after work last week I bumped into Nino, and I ended up somewhere with him and Adrien.”

“Sounds fun,” Alya commented, voice oddly calm.

“It wasn't,” she felt the need to say. “I ran away.”

A hum was the response she received.

“How are you and... Nino?” The name tasted sour on her tongue, and her facial features reflected her inner thoughts.

“Okay,” Alya started in an uncertain voice. “I'm mostly worried about what will happen when we meet up, honestly. We haven't been able to set out a time, but I'm just constantly _looking_ on the fucking internet to see who's on his arm at different times.”

Marinette pushed herself up, eyebrows knitting together in concern from the tone of her friend's voice. “Alya...”

The red-head shook her head firmly. “No,” she said before repeating herself in a stronger voice, “ _No_. I trust him—and he trusts me—so I will _not_ have this conversation.”

Despite the flush on the bespectacled female's cheeks, she found herself laughing fondly at her stubbornness. “You—” Marinette had started to say before her cell phone started to ring, surprising her thoroughly as it wasn't Rose's set song, nor her parents. “Excuse me,” she said to her flat-mate, padding through the bedroom door as she put the cell phone to her ear.

“Hello?” the caller said, and she found herself blinking in surprise from the low voice, pulling the cell phone back to gaze at the name.

It was baffling, to say the least. “Adrien?”

“Marinette?” he replied, a pleasant tone that was friendly and close to laughter.

“Can I help you?” she found herself saying, perching upon the edge of her bed. “It's almost eleven o'clock at night—don't tell me you've travelled elsewhere and you're calling me at some absurd time.” It was a possibility, after all. She hadn't seen him that day, or heard news about his doing, and it was surely in his job description that he had to travel a lot.

His laugh was melodic, even through a cell phone. “No, silly,” he denied. “I apologise if this is too late—would you like me to let you go?”

With her free hand, she tugged her socks off. “A bit late for that now,” she chastised, a small smile appearing upon her lips as she rephrased her previous question. “What can I do for you?”

“It's more about what I can do for you,” the blond clarified, a teasing quality to his voice.

At his words, Marinette found herself shaking her head. “Enlighten me, then.”

“I thought, perhaps, you'd be in need for an enthusiastic talking to before your interview tomorrow,” Adrien explained. “Who better to give you one than your dear husband, eh?”

She scoffed. “Thanks, darling.”

“That's the spirit.” His grin was obvious in his voice. “What do you think they'll ask you about? It's an interview solely by you, by the way; we were specifically told that.”

“I'm not too sure, honestly,” she confessed, uncertainty bleeding through the microphone. They had both been informed about it, then. Squeezing the material of her dress, Marinette tried to soothe her sweating hands with the action. “The picture is the three of us with bubble wands, if that helps? They might ask about that—Penny said they're not taking any new pictures of me to include in there.”

“Shame,” he murmured, “I'm sure they would've been beautiful. I do remember that, maybe. I think it was in Nino's garden?”

Of course being charming came natural to him—he was a famous model who held the hearts of many within his palms. “That's the one.”

“Nino's mother took that one,” he started slowly, willingly supplying the information she'd need to say within the interview, “and she _adored_ you, Marinette. She used to comb your hair and remark that she'd much prefer you as their child, since Nino disliked letting anyone do his hair. His parents kept that photograph upon the mantle until just recently; which was, well, my fault, actually...”

She laughed despite the growing warmth upon her cheeks. “Did you knock it over from seeing your wayward wife?”

“Almost.” He chuckled, a breathy laugh that was quite endearing. “I tripped over Plagg, actually.”

“I assume that happens a lot,” she joked.

He made a noise of distress. “He loves knocking me over more than anyone else—what can I say? I fall for him every time he does it.”

“ _No_ ,” she breathed, incredulous.

“Please, you've heard worse,” Adrien defended himself with a laugh. “Now back to my bedtime story for you, darling. You were rather offended with Nino that day, so you soaked his trousers after that was captured since he'd taken to calling you ' _Nettie_ '.”

A shudder went through her at the awful abbreviation. “I'd soak anyone who'd call me that.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Thank you,” Marinette started hesitantly, wondering whether expression her gratitude was a wise decision. “You didn't have to do this—yes, I'm well aware we're _married_ , hang on—but you've been nothing but sweet and I feel like I can't repay you very well. I'm not, well, the Marinette that you remember, am I? I may look like her, with breasts and longer limbs, but that's it, really.” She was rambling, and she knew it. And yet, she couldn't stop the words from pouring out until she manually placed a hand over her bitten lips. “S- _sorry_ ,” she squeaked.

To her surprise, a laugh sounded through the cell phone. “You're still adorable when you get nervous,” Adrien began. She shifted at his words. “Did you know you had that habit when you were younger? You'd scratch your elbow and neck, too, and I saw you do that in person. You may not remember, but I _do_.”

“People change,” she said softly.

His voice was tender. “Not you.”

-x-

The interview was rather nerve-wracking, but she managed to make it through without stumbling over her words. She fanned her flushed face while walking through her bedroom, depositing another finished piece of lingerie into a box she'd hastily scribbled ' _for sale_ ' upon. They were ready for listings to be put up later that evening after Alya had arrived home, and there was only a last detail of the outfit she'd designed for her assigned character that she was planning to delve into during her free time the following week.

' _Prince Chat_ ' flashed on her cell phone, once again.

' _Prince Chat:  
_ _Marinette, please talk to me._ '

She pursed her lips.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Give me some time, please._ '

It wasn't fair to push him away stubbornly. She was being irritable, idiotic and assuming. “Fuck,” she swore lowly. It took a few minutes to scroll through her e-mails to find the correct one to respond to, and her heart was thumping uncomfortably and attempting to leap out from her throat while searching.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Marinette,_

_I believe there's been some misunderstanding between us. It is with regret that I wasn't able to meet you—I can admit that I withheld information about my cousin with the hopes of keeping our conversations centred around us._

_That is, if there's still a possibility of there being an us._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

A string of multiple explicit words were all that ran through her mind as she read the message until her eyes were dry and beginning to water. A hiccup escaped her mouth, followed by a dry sob that she swallowed down with determination. It was her own hole that she'd dug, wasn't it? She needed to sort through it herself, not allow the sweet male to charm her out of her well of guilt. The cracks of her wall keeping her emotions at bay were deepening, and the thought of exploding at the next altercation she was involved in was daunting.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Chat,_

_Don't apologise. Please, just don't._

_There's been more than one misunderstanding. Can you find the time to meet me in person, please? I want to tell you face-to-face and explain before we progress any further._

_Yours,  
Marinette_.'

The reply appeared when she loaded her e-mail while drowning her sorrows in a particularly strong mug of coffee. She winced from the furry feeling of her tongue, from burning the flesh with the liquid.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Tuile_

_Marinette,_

_If I can't apologise, then neither can you. Chloé is hosting a party tonight, and I'd be honoured if you met me there so we could talk. It's seven o'clock if you agree, and I'll have someone waiting outside to escort you in (from your lack of physical invitation)._

_I hope to see you there._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

The previous, and first, get-together that Chloé had thrown hadn't been too terrible, though she pondered whether her presence was going to be welcomed from the host. Even Mireille had mentioned that the blonde had complained about her in passing, and that had been back when they were together in their first year—after Chloé had laughed at her twin-tails, that she had rarely wore and decided to style them into one of her first weeks. Despite the nagging feeling in the back of her head, she bucked up the courage and the opportunity, as her day was bound to be energy saving from the lack of work. Alya sent her regards via cell phone message, and Rose sent a picture of her screaming as her only response.

By the time the red-head had wandered into her bedroom, Marinette had been pulling a thigh-high sock on. The tell-tale sound of a camera made her wince and stubbornly tug the material up tightly, quickly throwing her dark dress over her frame with gusto.

“Honestly.” Marinette huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her forehead.

“You love me,” was the response.

She muttered under her breath, “Not as much as you love your blog.”

“What's that?” Alya sang in a exaggerated and happy tone. “I can't hear you from the amount of money flooding our pockets.”

“Oh, it's ours now?” Marinette retorted, reaching to behind to attempt to fasten the button. The red-head caught her distress and swatted her hands, doing the dress up for her. “Thank you.”

Alya winked as she spun her around. “Can you do something for me tonight? I mean us, not just me, actually.”

Tugging at the collar around her neck, Marinette shrugged half-heartedly. “I'm not committing murder for you, no matter what Chloé did to you this time.”

The bespectacled female waved her hand dismissively. “That was an accident and in the past, Marinette,” she reprimanded, “Chloé looked guilty after Aurore told her off for me.” Although the blonde hadn't actually apologised for the innocent, Alya had glared daggers in her direction whenever they saw each other through the halls. It had been an accident, yes; Chloe had hit the lip of the bin with her coffee cup, and it tumbled to the floor while staining Alya's outfit in the process. “I'm not called Coffee Princess any more, too.”

“You're still my princess.” She smirked.

“Be quiet.” Alya flicked the smaller female on the nose mockingly. “Do a little networking and see if anyone of her special celebrity friends know about Lady. I want to actually know from people, not magazines, if we're really popular.”

“Really?” Marinette blinked, astounded at the request. “You've had someone attempt to hack the website, been featured within gossip magazines, along with several sponsor offers but you want _me_ to ask around? What if I get recognised?”

Alya raised her dark eyebrows in challenge. “The only way you'd be recognised is if you were partially naked, silly.”

Her cheeks coloured. “ _Still_ ,” she defended, “there's the off chance that someone will recognise me—especially if you post that picture!”

“This doesn't even show your dress.” She shook the cell phone purposely. “Mari, _please_. You know how secretive we are, it's fine. Quit your worrying.”

“I worry for the both of us, Alya.” Marinette sighed and suddenly jumped in surprise when the red-head placed a burgundy-coloured lipstick in her hand and turned her to face the mirror.

Alya ran her fingers through the dark tresses of the smaller female's hair, separating the strands and beginning to braid. “You need a pop of colour,” she explained, gesturing to the neutral make-up. “I won't take any more pictures, so calm down, okay? Go network yourself there, and maybe pick up a few numbers if that man of yours isn't up to standards.”

“Fuck off,” she replied fondly.

-x-

The temperature with chilly, and she felt the exposed skin of her thighs prickling from the crisp air. A few individuals had passed—either occupants or guests for the blonde's party—and sent odd looks her way, yet none had questioned why she was there, standing clad in a dress too thin for the weather with a small bag on her back. She shifted in her dark ankles boots, checking the cell phone for the time.

Chat hadn't showed, yet.

Alya had braided her hair back, apart from her bangs and a few strands to frame her features. The red-head had shoved her outside while admiring her outfit, and said she'd hold the fort until she was home (to give details, of course). Rose had messaged her a few times to ask what was happening, since she was spending the evening with Mylène and, apparently, missing out on the action. Manon had sent her spontaneous message of droning on about the gossip from her university, and then proceeded to ask what the dark-haired female was doing for that evening; from which, Marinette had stated she was going to spend it doing something that required courage. The brunette, comically, assumed that she meant rock climbing.

“Mari!” she heard before arms were around her neck, and her face was pressed into someone else's golden hair. “I'm _so_ glad to see you here but, well, _why_ are you here?”

If the distinct smell of her perfume hadn't given her away, Marinette doubted there was anyone else that would have given her such an enthusiastic greeting. Aurore was smiling, clad in a white sundress that had a deep neckline, revealing the ample curve of her breasts.

“I see they're out today,” Marinette remarked, a grin curling around the edge of her lips.

Aurore stuck her tongue out childishly. “If you'd draw your eyes away from them, you'd notice my shoes are a lot more appealing.” Attractive if she was interested in the same sex, rather; Aurore had bright crimson shoes that were made of various straps, and with a higher heel than she'd seen for a while. “Great, right?”

“If you say so,” she said with a whistle. “Are you trying to impress someone tonight?”

“You,” the blonde deadpanned.

She grinned. “You caught me.” Offering her arm, Marinette let laughter burst through her stained lips when the blonde-haired female linked hers through it, shooting her a flirty smile while raising her golden eyebrows. “I'd escort you in, my lady, but I'm waiting for someone.”

Aurore's brow raised higher at that. “Really now?” she questioned, pulling the smaller female in closer. “Is this a recent development?”

“Eh...” Marinette trailed off, free hand self-consciously moving to rub her occupied elbow. “I guess you could say that?”

“You owe me a lot of details, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Aurore proclaimed, sounding her tongue in a noise of disapproval. “Imagine that I had to read about your scandalous relationship.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “In a gossip magazine, no less,” she agreed.

“Quite.” Aurore huffed. “So let's have a date during the week, okay? I'll clear up time to catch with some coffee.” Before she could reply with the affirmative, Aurore simply raised her eyebrows before darting forward and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek mischievously and walking past the security guard to venture inside. Marinette didn't have the change to wave good-bye, nor give her any kind of witty response.

“You and Aurore really are close,” a voice remarked behind her, a teasing quality clear within the low tones. “I think I may be a bit jealous, actually.”

Her cheeks coloured despite the roll of her eyes. Shooting the male a look with narrowed eyes over her shoulder, she wasn't surprised to meet his amused expression, nor the bright emerald eyes that she'd come to associate with silly comments. “If you're jealous of her,” she began, watching the lopsided smirk play across his lips, “then I have every reason to be jealous of the models you work with.”

“Would you prefer to be draped over me instead?” Adrien asked, smile widening at the bewildered expression that appeared on her face. “I'm here to escort you inside.” It was similar to the words she'd said to Aurore mere minutes ago.

Marinette tilted her head to the side quizzically.

“Nino will be... late,” he explained, offering his arm in a gesture reminiscent to her interaction with her friend. “I've been instructed to be your guardian angel, for the time being.”

“My hero,” she replied wryly, linking her arm through his.

The security guard didn't question the plus one on Adrien's hand; perhaps they had known beforehand. The journey up to the apartment door was tense at first, but Adrien broke it by asking about the weather, and she snorted despite her attempts to keep her laughter under control. By the time he was pushing the door open, nodding at the hired help that was adequately dressed and ready to take coats that were offered, Marinette had tears brimming upon her eyes.

“The _weather_?” she questioned, winded and incredulous.

He sniffed. “It's rather cold, if you haven't noticed.” Not that it was bothering him, from the seems of it. He was clad in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a few buttons not done up, along with dark-washed jeans and clean shoes.

They were almost showing the same amount of skin. The flesh between her thigh-high socks and dress, and the sleeves that ended just below her elbows meant they were almost equal.

“Your hair should be keeping you warm,” she noted, eyeing the strands that were brushing the top of his collar. “Are you growing it out?”

“I'd never be allowed to,” Adrien explained, running a hand through the tresses of his bangs that were swept to one side. “It's in my contract, actually.”

She blinked. “Then ask about it? I'm sure whoever you negotiated with would allow you, eventually, if you explained it was what you wanted.”

His grin didn't meet his eyes. “You try talking to my father,” he joked.

A waiter waltzed past and thrust a brightly-coloured drink into each of their hands, thanked them for coming before moseying onto the next group. Marinette's eyes flickered around the spacious apartment, taking in the groups of people; she recognised Chloé, naturally, who was talking animatedly with Aurore, and Max and Kim in the same group. Mireille was with a female that she didn't recognise, and the other four scattered through the rooms she was unfamiliar with. Adrien unlinked their arms and flashed her a reassuring smile, one that was genuine that time, and took a hold of her hand and pulled her gently to the nearest leather sofa.

She shifted from the cold feeling on her thighs, tugging her hand free from his. “You're very touchy feely, aren't you?”

“Only with those I like,” he assured her.

“I should greet Chloé before she screeches at the sight of me,” she suggested.

Adrien took a sip from his drink. “I'm sure she'll be fine with you here. Why don't you stay with me for a bit?”

Pursing her lips, her eyes flickered between the inviting blond beside her and the female who was grinning while twirling in her teal-coloured dress. “Fine,” Marinette relinquished, “but not for too long. I'm supposed to be networking tonight.”

“Oh?” he questioned, a finger playing along the edge of his glass. “Is this for your job?”

“No.” She shook her head. “A request from a friend.”

Perhaps it was to show off, but Marinette couldn't help but be envious as he raised a single eyebrow in question. How was she supposed to bring up the _Ladyblog_ anyway? Randomly placing herself into a conversation then bringing up a completely different topic with the only reason being that she wanted to know if anyone _knew_ it was strange, to say the least. Admitting that she knew the owner—did Rose could as an owner, too?—wasn't an option either.

“It's a strange one, isn't it?”

There was her opening! If she was alone, she would have clicked her fingers enthusiastically. “Yes,” she confessed, beaming from the opportunity. “It's to help research a topic for one of her projects—sadly, she and Chloé aren't exactly _friends_.”

He chortled. “That's not a surprise. She's very uppity when she wants to be.”

“Definitely,” Marinette agreed, grateful that he never attempted to defend the blonde's attitude. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions, then?” At the shake of head, Marinette could only hope that the further conversations that evening would be as smooth as the current one. “Have you heard of the _Ladyblog_?”

Adrien blinked, visibly surprised. “Perhaps I'm rather conceited lately, but I thought this conversation was going to go in a completely different direction. To answer the question, though, yes. Of course I've heard of it.”

Rather than be surprised at his first confession, Marinette stiffened at the answer. _Of course_? What on Earth did of course mean? Although she knew it was slightly popular, the man sat a short distance to her left was famous throughout the world for his looks, and was highly sought after—the difference between him and _Lady_ was drastic. “Of course?” Marinette choked out.

“Well, yes.” He blinked, eyes trying to decipher her reaction. “There's a few brands that are mulling over contacting her to model for them—but that's very selective information, so maybe don't include that in there.”

Her response was to rasp, “I'll tell my friend that, then.”

His eyebrows knitted together slightly. “Was that not the answer you were looking for?”

“I'm aware it's... popular,” she said, the word sour upon her tongue, “but I didn't think that someone like _you_ would know it.”

“I can't tell if that's a compliment or not,” Adrien teased, hand brushing against hers upon the sofa. “Lady's very popular in the business, actually. She's like a rising star that some designers want to snag because she sells clothing, too. Nino's a big fan of hers—but don't tell anyone, or he'll deny it until he dies. His computer background is even from her site.”

Gulping the thick lump in her throat, she uttered, “Really?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, flashing her a sincere smile. “He's usually quite a big fan of models and such, so I assume that the whole mystery debacle makes Lady even more attractive to others.”

“I-I see,” she choked out.

The blog made them money, along with various sponsor products, but it wasn't helping with her confidence as much as she'd like. Hearing that the one male she'd wanted to never see it had actually browsed the site, and was even a _fan_ caused her heart to thump awkwardly and cause her to wonder what would happen if she ever revealed herself—but it was too soon for that. She needed to tackle one hurdle at a time, not reveal her best kept secret.

“Thank you,” she said, placing her hand on top of Adrien's warm one briefly, “but I should get going now.”

His eyes were trained on their hands a moment before withdrawing his, lips curling into a lopsided grin. “All right,” he agreed, running his fingers through the golden tresses of his hair. “Remember I'm supposed to be your guardian angel for tonight—so call if you're in any trouble. Chloé or no Chloé.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “You're insufferable, did you know that?”

“I'd prefer charming.” He grinned.

“If you're always this overbearing, I'm going to consider that divorce,” the dark-haired female teased, pleased as his grin grew in amusement.

Waving in good-bye with her free hand, Marinette crossed the room and greeted Mireille with her unknown conversation partner with a nod, and walked purposely towards the section of the room that hosted Chloé—by the bar, it seemed. If she kicked her out, that would've been fine, albeit just a tad embarrassing, but she was determined to at least stay until Nino arrived. Just before she came to the blonde, she pulled her cell phone from her bag to send a message quickly.

To her surprise, there was already one from Nathaniel. He'd asked her for coffee the following week, the same time as last. The thoughts of Silencieux floated through her head, and if, perhaps, they revealed their pseudonyms to each other, then he would have been able to coach her to be in the mentality of not flinching from every mention of her alter. Nathaniel had been popular for years, from his debut, so, surely, he would have tips and tricks to share (if he didn't gulp and run when she hinted towards his secret career).

' _Marinette:  
_ _When do you think you'll arrive?_ '

She wasn't expecting a reply. And Nino didn't give one.

Chloé curled her upper lip in distaste upon the sight of her, but that was all. She thanked the blonde for allowing her to come, and Chloé grumbled under her breath in response before donning a bright, and fake, smile that showed the whites of her teeth.

“Marinette,” she started, playing with the top of her glass, “it seems you're rather well known—a lot more than I expected, honestly.”

She baulked. “T-thank you?”

“Not sure if it's a compliment.” Chloé huffed, blowing a stand of hair away from her face. “But I don't have _anything_ against you, are we clear? We're just... acquaintances. That's us, all right.”

“Sure.” Marinette blinked, bewildered. “I never considered us friends in the first place.”

Chloé's lips curled into a mischievous grin. “That's great.” To her surprise, the golden-haired female stood up from her chair upon the bar, and linked her free arm through Marinette's (a common theme for that evening). “Come along now and I'll introduce you to everyone that's here. Don't worry, though, I won't make fun of you.”

“Okay?” Marinette said, perplexed.

“Okay,” Chloé repeated, grinning wildly. “You, of course, know Max and Kim from last time. Kim's currently heartbroken from his rejection from Aurore, and Max is smitten with some mystery girl who he won't tell us much about—I suspect it's the girl from the event, but I'm not sure.”

Marinette pursed her lips, not revealing any information from Manon. It seemed that Chloé had an agenda of her own as she whisked the dark-haired female around the room, pointing out names and then a titbit of information that was rather private. She learned things about a small group of models that she wasn't aware (particularly a piercing somewhere), and then was told that Aurore used to be chubby when she was younger, before her stint on a television show. When they rounded a corner, still with linked arms, and Marinette's eyes connected with Adrien's bewildered ones, he tilted his head to the side silently in question. Discreetly, she shrugged her shoulders in a non-committal answer.

“Oh, yes,” Chloé said with a gasped, pulling her along near the bar. “I don't need to make any introductions here, right?” She hadn't _been_ making introductions; just saying names and little secrets, not telling individuals that her name was Marinette or _anything_. “Adrien here is a good friend of yours, eh?”

“Yes, Chloé,” Adrien answered for her, raising his eyebrows at the interaction between the two females. “What are you two up to, then?”

The blonde's smile grew. “Just introducing your good friend to everyone. I'm afraid I have to depart now, though. Don't make any more headlines, you two. Okay?” And with that said, Chloé was waltzing away with a sway in her hips and a brightly-coloured drink soon in her hands from a passing waiter.

“...She is odd,” Marinette remarked.

“Before you, she was my only friend other than Nino,” Adrien confessed, shaking his head at the thought. “It was a rather lonely childhood until you threw a ball in my face.”

Her head whipped around to face him with a shocked expression. “Please, tell me you're joking.”

“Oh, no,” Adrien denied while laughing. “I'd ventured into Nino's garden—against orders, of course—and suddenly, a bright pink ball collided with my face and there was blood _everywher_ e. I think you just followed your toy, so when it was stained red and I was there clutching my nose, you choked a bit before tackling me to try and stop the bleeding.”

“That doesn't sound smart,” she remarked weakly, aware that panic was still showing on her expression. Of all the things she'd heard from him, the story of how they'd actually _met_ hadn't been on. Did she know Nino back them, or was it through the ball that she met them both? There was a pink-coloured ball stuffed away in her room at home, still, so perhaps that was the miracle ball that had given her such great childhood friends. “I didn't break your nose, did I?”

He laughed, placing his chin upon his palm. “No, I'm just a bleeder. You did tear off half of your shirt and try and stuff it up my nose afterwards—and that's how you met Nino, too, actually. He came out wondering what the noise was and then thought you were attacking me.”

“Well, I was,” she mumbled, cheeks colouring at the revelation.

“It was a pretty glorious meeting,” Adrien soothed her, surprising her with a wink when she looked up.

She grumbled in response, “You're a flirt.”

“I still prefer charming,” he teased.

Shaking her head fondly, Marinette excused herself with the reason being for networking, the same as last, and actively avoided the group of people that Chloé had merged herself in with. Her brief conversation with Aurore was full of wonder, mostly because the female had already became quite intoxicated, but she still revealed that she was a fan of the _Ladyblog_. Apparently, she'd even ordered underwear from the site and was waiting for more designs, so she could attempt to order them, too. Max and Kim had mentioned they knew of it, too, but they promptly avoided eye contact after the small expression, so she didn't question their motivations. The group of models, especially the one with the peculiar piercing, gushed that they knew of it—and even that they were _friends_ with her. She was dumbfounded at the sheer audacity of their bragging, but they didn't take the statement back after she'd asked. When she announced it was research for a project, they said to contact them at the company the following week for more information about Lady, as they had a shoot scheduled there. Even Mireille said she'd heard of it, but didn't claim to be her friend, thankfully.

Marinette resisted the urge to rub her eyes at the bar. She rested her elbows upon the countertop, wondering just _why_ the blog had been so popular—sure, she could understand young men interested in the particular style of pictures, but females and even _models_?

“You look like you need this.”

A drink was pushed her way. She took it gratefully and sipped at the liquid, almost choking when she turned to the right and saw Nino standing beside her, a gentle smile on his lips and curls pushed back and tamed. “H-hi,” she choked out, swallowing.

“Hey,” he returned, signalling the bartender for a drink of his own.

Her cheeks coloured when she realised he'd given her the drink he had. She sipped from the glass tentatively, wondering how to approach the delicate subject with tact.

“I don't remember you,” she blurted.

Perfect. It was exactly as she'd imagined—she'd have a plan made up perfectly and ditch it at the last moment to blurt whatever was on the tip of her tongue. Nino's expression quickly turned perplexed, and as he opened his mouth to question her, she held her hands up frantically, knocking the glass over in the process.

“W-wait,” she stuttered, gratefully accepting the napkins that were thrust her way with coloured cheeks. “If you talk, I don't think I-I'll be able to tell you everything.”

Nino made a hum of agreement, settling himself down upon a seat and looking at her intently.

She nervously scratched the back of her neck, Adrien's reminder that it had been a habit she had when she was younger running through her mind. “I was in an accident after you left, and I've had amnesia ever since. I—well, I don't remember anything before it; that means you, Adrien, Plagg and Tikki. _Anything_ that we did together—I'm s—I'm so _sorry_ for deceiving you but I really didn't want to! It just happened!”

“Are you okay?” Nino asked, voice laced with concern.

“I—I'm fine,” she stammered, inwardly cringing as her face coloured further. It was harder than she'd expected to confess everything to him. She'd imagined many different scenarios; from him being outraged and angry, and terribly confused, but never had she imagined that he'd be concerned about her nervous stuttering or flushed cheeks. At least she wasn't tearing up from guilt (yet). “I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry.” She hiccuped, hands running along the flesh of her face and messing up her make-up in the process. To her complete mortification, tears began to well up along her dry cerulean eyes, and despite the constant blinking she couldn't will them to go away.

“Marinette,” the dark-haired male started, a hand gently touching her back as he began to make soothing motions. “Hey, it's okay. Marinette?”

The calm tone of his voice paired with the comforting presence—she could _feel_ the warmth from his body in front of her face—just made her eyes well up more. She sniffled, pawing at the countertop for a remaining tissue to dab at her eyes and nose.

“Marinette,” he called again, voice stronger that time. “It's okay, _really_. That must have been hard for you to say, and I absolutely appreciate that you told me.”

She swiped at her eyes furiously. “I should have told you sooner,” she croaked.

The answer she received made her blink in surprise, rather than from her drying tears. “You had no obligation to. This was your choice to tell me.”

“I... I suppose so.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Nino replied with a sincere grin that showed the small, barely there, dimples upon his cheeks. “It means a lot to me.”

All she could say was, “Okay.” Was he intoxicated? Did he not care about the information? She'd just admitted that she couldn't remember him _at all_ , and that had been the foundation of their strange relationship. And yet, he was smiling gently at her as if she'd told him _good_ news.

“Your mannerisms are still the same,” he started, drawing her attention back. “Holding your elbow or touching your neck isn't very common—Adrien got the neck habit from you, too. It's fun to tease him for it.”

And there he was, bringing his cousin into the conversation willingly, contradicting his words.

Marinette excused herself, dashing for the unoccupied bathroom. With tissues and the basin's help, she cleared up the smudges of make-up that were streaked around her eyes, and willed herself not to be such a coward. He'd said that he was _thankful_ for her telling him; not upset, not deceived, and certainly not angry. Perhaps, it was too good to be true.

-x-

Alya had been overjoyed with the response Marinette reiterated to her. To celebrate the research that had went so very well, she snapped a picture the following morning when the dark-haired female had been brushing her hair. Marinette rolled her eyes at the action, unconcerned with the image as she was almost fully dressed at that point. After slipping a blazer upon her clothing, she disappeared and kept herself wrapped up in her thoughts.

Chat hadn't responded to her texts—or was it adequate to call him Nino by that point? They'd conversed in person, after all, and it was easy to associate the two together; apart from the glaring fact that Nino was polite and certainly hadn't began to flirt while within her presence. Perhaps, he was waiting to build up to that (especially after the confession she'd stuttered through). But now, thankfully, he would know that she held no affection feeling for his cousins, other than that of someone who could, potentially, be a good friend.

Adrien was... disarming. He was a whirlwind of positive emotions, smiles, and willing divulged precious childhood information in the hopes of helping her. Even with his constant teasing, she could see _why_ they had been friends in the first place.

It didn't feel right to change his name on her cell phone to Nino. Alya _and_ Rose had a habit of scouring through her contacts and messages some evenings when they were bored, and they _knew_ that she referred to him as that name. To save any drama, she left it as it was.

Xavier picked her for errands that day. She nodded dutifully and picked up the different folders of paperwork that she had to deliver to different offices, moving robotically from the amount of time she'd spent tossing and turning the previous evening. If she'd known that Nino would have reacted so well, and not sent a single message afterwards, she'd have swallowed a few more fruity drinks before groaning on her mattress in distress.

Narrowly avoiding colliding with someone, Marinette sat down at the nearest table to sort through the different folders. She knew the layout well enough of the company by that point, so she organised the different parchments in order of where to go.

“Marinette!” Her head snapped up to see Penny waving at her with a folder in her hands. “Give this to Xavier, will you? Thank you!” And with that, Penny threw the folder a small distance to the table and winked at the dark-haired female, unconcerned when it missed and fell to the floor, spilling pieces of paper for everyone near to see.

Marinette scrambled to pick up the papers before they were trodden on, curiosity getting the best of her. She peeked at the contents of the papers as she sorted them, crumpling the edges in her hands when a page contained pictures of _Lady_. This—this wasn't good, was it? _Penny_ , a higher-up in the magazine division, giving a folder containing her alter ego to another higher-up? What were they planning to do—ask her to be involved in their company? She already was—they just didn't know! They didn't _need_ to know. She placed a hand upon her frantically beating heart, telling herself she was simply fantasising.

There were still papers littering the floor. Picking them up robotically, Marinette was trying not to let her panic show on her expression.

“Marinette?” Fucking _glorious_. She stilled in surprise, crumpling the edges of another piece of paper. A body was soon on their knees beside her, plucking sheets of paper from the floor and passing them towards her. “Oh, are you doing something with Lady?”

“Not... personally,” Marinette replied, smiling stiffly.

Nino's smile was enthusiastic, meeting his dark eyes. “Then someone here is, right? I suggested the idea to Penny a while ago, but I had no idea if she'd agree to do it.”

“Adrien wasn't exaggerating that you're a fan of hers, then,” she commented lightly, taking the offered papers and placing them back into their folders.

“She is rather beautiful,” he agreed, standing up and brushing the dirt from his clothing, “but my... infatuation—if you can call it that—was before I started talking to this really amazing girl.”

Fighting the urge to scream loudly in surprise, Marinette's expression was, thankfully, calm and collected. She raised her eyebrows—as she couldn't raise one alone—a small smile playing upon her lips. “Oh?” she questioned.

“Yeah.” Nino's smile grew, showing the whites of his teeth as pink began to splatter across his tanned cheeks. “She's everything I could want in someone. Don't tell the press that, though. They can't catch wind of this.”

She croaked, “Okay,” in a way similar to the previous night.

He winked at her. “It's a secret between us.”

“Okay,” she reiterated, bunching the folder beneath her arm as she clutched her elbow through her blazer.

Nino caught sight of the action and merely chuckled, wishing her farewell as he needed to leave. She watched him leave with a mixed expression, wondering _why_ something seemed to be missing in their interactions. Although he could make her blush—but then again, most could—there was an element of their previous conversations online that wasn't translating well in person.

The folders were passed out to the correct rooms, and she took a breather at lunch to collect herself. Checking her cell phone, she blinked in surprise from the message.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _Would you like to go somewhere with me? We always said we'd go when we're older._ '

There was no feeling of disappointment that it was from Adrien.

' _Marinette:_  
 _Okay._ '

That was her favourite reply lately, it seemed.

He replied much the same.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _Okay_.'

She smiled.

_PREVIEW: “Your sweet tooth is quite endearing, my dear.”_


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Découvrir; to discover, to find.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

She was able to wrap herself up in a cocoon of work, stitching and sewing and by the time the following Friday was over, Marinette had brightly-coloured band-aids (courtesy of Rose), dark circles that she was too lethargic to cover with concealer under her eyes, and a constant yawn that couldn't be covered by her hand forever. Xavier had looked, critiqued, and decided the winner of his section on the spot—Marinette had came second, as Sarah had remarked that she wasn't fond of the shoe choice. The bloody _shoe_ choice! Vincent had came first, and the smug expression that appeared on his usually scowling face was strange to see. They had, thankfully, been given the weekend off, so Marinette was lounging on the sofa in the kitchen, an arm thrown over her eyes as Alya whisked some concoction by the stove and she could faintly hear Rose running inside the apartment.

Through the week, Rose had taken it upon herself to burst into the dark-haired female's room just to tell her something vaguely important.

“I saw some guy slip his hand beneath Aurore's shirt! She kneed him between the legs!”

That had been the information on Monday, and when she had coffee with the irritated blonde—since Nathaniel had cancelled last minute for their drink after class with no explanation—Aurore had moaned and groaned about her life as a scantily clad female. She explained, “ _It's almost February, Marinette, that's the month of love—therefore the month of skin. I'm preparing myself for the cold air_.” But not the warm hands trying to cop a feel, apparently.

“That awful pimply _thing_ in my class asked me out!”

Tuesday's. A male had been hitting on Rose—or, trying to—since their first year, and she was slowly becoming more fed up with it.

“Nino posted a topless picture!”

Wonderful information. Marinette had rolled her eyes that day and adamantly refused to look.

“Juleka just posted a picture with her girlfriend! Oh, _oh—_ fuck, she's really pretty.”

If the blonde didn't almost worship the floor Nino walked on, then she would've assumed there was more than platonic feelings between her and Juleka.

“Chloé said my shirt looks pretty. I'm burning it.”

There wasn't a common theme that she was expecting from the bubbly blonde. So when Rose burst through the kitchen door, panting visibly with flushed cheeks and short hair askew, Marinette blinked in surprise.

“You okay?” she asked.

Rose held up a hand, signalling she needed a moment to catch her breath.

Alya laughed and continued to whisk.

Turning around to sit up, Marinette stretched her arms over her head and sighed at the feeling. It took a few moments to realise, but the blonde leaning against the countertop was fanning herself with something that looked suspiciously like a magazine. She hadn't mentioned any upcoming interviews from Nino, so she was perplexed to see it.

Curiosity got the best of her. “What have you got there?”

“What do you think?” Rose huffed, blowing the hair from her forehead forcefully. As she waltzed through the small kitchen, she was momentarily distracted by marvelling over the creation that the red-head was dutifully making, and she hummed in appreciation while attempting to slip her finger into the mixture to taste a portion. The bespectacled female whacked her with the whisk and pointed towards the sofa, banishing her from that section of the room. “It's _yours_.”

Raising her eyebrows, Marinette said coolly, “I didn't buy anything.”

She winched when Rose hit her with the rolled up magazine. “ _Your_ interview, you beautiful idiot.”

“You need to work on your insults,” she mumbled, sinking slightly to the side as the blonde sat down beside her.

The magazine was sleek, glossy and the same as always, with the sharp printed words, a professionally taken photograph of a celebrity on the front—

“Fuck,” she blurted, noticing the cover picture was Adrien. There he was with his golden halo of hair that was perfectly styled, with a few strands falling loose to rest upon his forehead. He was in casual clothing that looked form-fitting and great for his body, and from the barely there dimples showing on his cheeks he was enjoying himself—and she realised why when her curious eyes trailed to his shoulders. “How the actual _fuck_?”

“He's not even his,” Rose mumbled, crossing her arms after she'd thrust the magazine into the dark-haired female's lap.

Marinette made a noise of disapproval. “They share him, actually.”

Plagg with his luminous green eyes, sleek ebony fur and average body size—she was relieved to see he wasn't overfed and large, actually, from the description she'd gathered about him—was balancing upon the blond's shoulder, claws digging in through the fabric of his shirt in an effort to stay in. She wondered how long the picture had taken to be perfect, and just _how_ they'd managed to have the feline stay where he was, rather than stay far away from the staff and hide in a dark corner.

Tikki would probably never be that friendly again.

“So, this contains my interview,” she started, staring at the clearly delighted feline that was enjoying his time with Adrien, “and it probably has a few pages of Adrien inside, too.”

“A section for you and your lover.” Rose winked.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “At least people think I have one.”

The blonde gawked openly before bursting into laughter, placing a hand over her heart with a mock offended expression. “How dare you? _I'm_ the married one of the two of us.”

Well, that wasn't really true any more, was it? Marinette's lips twitched in an effort not to laugh. “Your wife is unfaithful.”

“It's an open relationship.”

She gnawed her lower lip briefly. “Then why aren't you dating anyone?”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “I'm exploring my options.”

“Please,” Marinette replied, knocking her shoulder into the blonde's, almost knocking the magazine off of her lap. “You haven't been on a date in about... six months, I think?”

“Maybe,” she mused, tentatively stroking her chin with her finger, “that's about the last time I shaved down there, anyway.”

“ _Rose_!”

Rose grinned widely, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, come on, Mari. That was a joke—you know I'm saving it for someone special! Not until marriage, like my mother taught me.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Your mother fell pregnant at fifteen—she was definitely _not_ married to the father you don't even know.”

Waving her hand, Rose dismissively said, “Details.”

She rolled her eyes that time. The first few pages of the magazine were relatively normal, surprisingly, and then came the moment where she stilled in surprise. Adrien had four pages—fucking _four—_ which featured him and Plagg in various different shots for the first two. She glossed over the paragraphs of text, opting to gaze at the pictures as she flicked through to the other half. Rose made a high-pitched noise, snatching the magazine from her fingers and fawning over it herself. Adrien had allowed them to use some pictures from when he was younger; meaning, him, a young and slightly dirty Nino were posing together with Plagg balancing upon both of their shoulders. At the other childhood photograph, Marinette's throat felt dry and constricted.

It was her sat down shoulder-to-shoulder with Adrien, leaning against the bottom of an ebony sofa, Tikki fast asleep in the blond's lap, while Plagg was draped across her gloriously. The two of them had matching grins—she was still missing a tooth, she noticed—and from the askew angle she assumed that Nino had been the one holding the camera.

“I'll read it later,” Marinette said quietly when Rose started to trail her finger along to the text.

Rose didn't question it. “Sure.”

“Are you two going to smooch and be done?” Alya's voice cut in. “Food will be ready soon.”

“Yes, mother,” the two chimed in together.

Her section was after Adrien's, and consisted of only one page, thankfully. Her lips pursed into a tight line when she saw the plethora of images strewn across the paper—the bubble wand picture that she'd been shown by Penny, the imagine of Adrien kissing her hand at the charity event, and the final one was the one she'd been shown before; her holding Tikki in the garden. The text was roughly what she had said—that they were neighbours, her parents owned a pâtisserie, and that there was no romantic involvement between them, despite the gossiping articles about them. It was embellished, though, and the writer had added a section along the bottom that was questioning their adult relationship and speculating which of the two she would be involved with.

Marinette sighed, closing the magazine shut and standing up to stretch.

“At least they didn't say much about you,” Rose commented, eyes focused on the paragraphs. “' _Marinette Dupain-Cheng, an average girl that is best friends with two of today's superstars since they were mere boys. With the help of her parents' cooking, she charmed the two males at an early age_...'”

She groaned. “Stop.”

Rose accidentally snorted in her laughter. She looked horrified at the noise before seeing Marinette's uncomfortable expression and shifting. “They didn't mention that you currently work for them, or about which university you go to. It'll be fine.”

“Yes, I'm sure,” she drawled sarcastically. “People just asked questions about them before—now they'll harass me even _more_.”

“It's the only action you're getting.” Rose winked.

She grumbled in return, “More than you.”

-x-

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Morning, Marinette. How did you sleep?_ '

It was seven o'clock in morning and the chimes from her cell phone had rudely woken her up.

' _Marinette:  
__Go away, Chat. It's too early._ '

It was her first Sunday off, fully, since the internship had started. The tell-tale sound of bells sounded five minutes after her dismissive message, and she rolled over and pressed her face firmly into the fabric of the pillow until it was hard to breathe.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Are you okay?_ '

She blinked.

“Oh, _fuck_.”

It wasn't who she'd assumed it was from. There wasn't many that messaged her early in the morning, and the assumption had slipped before she'd even checked the name with bleary eyes. It hadn't even occurred to her that she'd requested for time before talking to Nino—well, they had conversed in person, so that had counted, hadn't it? The fact that Adrien had messaged her so early in the morning, however, was enough to make her rub her tired eyes in confusion.

' _Marinette:  
__Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that. Why are you up so early?_ '

It was amazingly more coherent than her thoughts.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Fuck, my bad. I forgot about the time difference. Please, try and sleep again!_ '

Strangely, she wanted to actually hear him curse. It seemed very out of place from his appearance.

' _Marinette:  
__I'm awake now, don't worry about it. How about you tell me about where you are?_ '

Marinette sighed, kicking the duvet from her body.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
Abroad currently. I apologise again._ '

She blinked.

' _Marinette:  
__Well, anything else to tell me?_ '

His reply came after she'd brushed her teeth and crawled back onto her mattress, pulling her laptop onto her lap.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__I'm really not good with heat. I get nosebleeds when the temperature changes too rapidly for me_.'

That was news to hear. With curiosity and feeling like a terrible stalker, Marinette searched for the blond's social media to find further details about his trip. She found a few quick posts which contained images of him within a plane, walking through the airport and smiling brightly within a restaurant while displaying his food. She'd asked for the details that he'd showed to his followers, but the insert of personal information was very open and friendly.

' _Marinette:  
__I'd make a joke about you seeing attractive women, but that would be of poor taste._ '

When she'd finished the leftover pancakes that Alya had made, she was glad she'd already swallowed before reading his message.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__That would be pretty ap-paw-ling._ '

“Fucking cousins,” she grumbled, washing the dishes with more gusto than needed. A few clumps of bubble flew up, attaching to her clothing. “Always so bloody full of puns, and stupid dimples that are really fucking cute.”

A throat cleared from behind her. Marinette whirled around, causing soapy lukewarm water to splash on the countertops and on the red-head beside her, along with bubbles that hilarious landed on Alya's breasts.

“' _That would be pretty ap-paw-ling_ '...” Alya started, raising her eyebrows and darting between the cell phone in her hand and the female with soaked hands and an awfully surprised expression. “I thought I was snatching your phone to find sexy messages, but you're just making bad jokes at each other. What the fuck, Mari?”

Her cheeks warmed. “Alya!” she scolded, wiping her hands on a stray towel before attempting to grab her cell phone. To her horror, the tinkling of bells sounded and caused the red-head's expression to turn positively gleeful.

Alya visibly vibrated in excitement. “' _Sorry again for waking you up, darling. I'll send you the details about where we're going later; need to board the plane now._ '”

“Al—”

She was cut off by the red-head throwing her arms around her neck and squeezing tight. “He even called you darling—I'm so proud of you, girl! How the fuck did you seduce the fucking god that is Adrien Agreste?”

“It's out of context!” she groaned, slapping the wandering hands away. “Don't look too far into it, Alya, because only _you_ are.”

The red-head's grin was wolfish as she passed the cell phone back. “I'm always here if you want to know how to send sexy messages.”

“Fuck _off_.”

She barely caught the cell phone that was thrown her way. Marinette blew air into her cheeks, making them bulge with the pressure and display her disapproval as the red-head beside her snickered, snatching the cloth from her hands and scooting her out of the way. Alya was very particular about dishes being clean—so she washed a lot of them two times, if Marinette or Rose had attempted to clean them by themselves. The red-head's mother had taught her well, and the cooking training wasn't the only thing that she had a talent for.

“Heads up, by the way, there's an interview airing tomorrow, and Nino's having another webcast soon,” Alya mentioned, gazing into the soapy bubbles with a small smile. “Rose will probably want to cook again.”

She blinked. “You mean, she wants to help weigh the ingredients and then watch me do the work while she twirls her pretty little apron at Nino's pixilated face.”

“What else?” Alya grinned.

“Any idea what she'll want to, well, help with?”

She hummed. “Something sweet, definitely.”

“Why, you don't say—I forgot I'm only allowed to cook the sweet treats around here.”

Alya's voice shook with her laughter. “I'll always remind you.”

-x-

The stares within classes had gotten worse after the interview had came out. A few class-mates had wandered over to her, waving the magazine in her face with a wide smile, but that was all from the ones that were distant to her usually in the classrooms. A few individuals had approached her in the hallways and asked rather strange questions; whether Nino had broken bones when he was younger, who their crushes were, if they'd worn embarrassing underwear that she'd seen at a young age, and the weirdest she had uttered to her that afternoon was from a bespectacled male from Alya's class—and from the fact that she could see the red-head shaking with laughter through the window, she had to assume that she'd sent him her way—that had asked if Adrien had ever worn her clothing.

“No,” Marinette said slowly, knitting her eyebrows together. “Why?”

The male before her coloured considerably. “He would've looked nice in them.”

Well, with his cherubic looks that were still there slightly to that day, he could have dressed in clothes designed for the opposite gender when he was younger without problems. Her chin wobbled from trying to hold in her laughter. “Okay,” she started, voice slightly breathy. “I'll be sure to tell him.”

When she was walking through the hallway after a particularly harsh class, where the professor had been a firecracker and wanted nothing more than to snap at certain students, she was rubbing her neck to try and get rid of the strain that had built in her muscles there. A body suddenly collided her, almost causing the dark-haired female to lose her balance and fall forward, which would've resulted in her white cotton dress showing too much skin.

“Marinette!” Aurore sang, wrapping her arms around her. “I'm _so_ glad you were a bitch to me that one day.”

She smoothed the hair back into her ponytail, rolling her eyes at the comment. “You and me both, Aurore.”

The blonde turned her around, grinning as they were face-to-face. Aurore had bright crimson-coloured lipstick on that made her cerulean eyes pop, and her golden strands of hair were plaited intricately into two braids that fell to below her breasts, on top of her pastel green cardigan over her brown dress.

“You're dressed rather... covered today. Do you have something to tell me?”

Aurore blinked. “I'm not joining the church, don't worry.”

Marinette placed a hand over her heart, letting out an exaggerated breath. “Wonderful to hear! I was very concerned about you, just for a moment. What can I do for you, Miss Beauréal?”

The blonde linked their arms with a gleeful smile. “You can come grab a drink with me again. I've already seen that Cherry Boy's absent again, so you're all mine.”

“Darling, I'm always yours,” Marinette drawled, laughing as the other female winked at her.

“My sweetheart.”

When they reached their usual coffee-shop, Aurore insisted on paying and despite her protests, she gave in with a huff and crossed arms after the queue behind them had built up during their bickering. It wasn't that she absolutely hated others spending money on her—she was fine with appropriate gifts when they were given at the right times of the year, after all—but having Aurore, who's parents were loaded with money and constantly splurged on her whenever she wanted something, attempt to buy her things whenever they were together, she felt like she was taking advantage of their relationship. In return, Marinette insisted she paid for their next round of coffees, if they got together before she forgot.

As it turned out, Aurore wasn't pressing her for details about her relationship with Nino and Adrien, still. The blonde simply remarked that Chloé was obscenely jealous, and had always claimed that she was Adrien's only friend growing up—she'd only found out about Nino after she'd aged into a teenager, and even then she was sworn to secrecy. Marinette had guffawed at the right moments of the story, and it certainly explained Chloé's reaction the last time they had been in the room together. She was closer to Adrien than Nino, as the tanned male wasn't usually interested in following her whims and fancies.

“So if Chloé's good friends with Adrien, and you, how close are you to him?” she found herself asking curiously, nursing the warm mug between her hands.

“So-so,” the blonde replied, fiddling with the end of her braid. “We mostly met at Chloé's, or special events, but we don't openly seek out conversation with each other. I... I might've spilled a drink over him when we first met, actually. I think he thought it was on purpose.”

She gnawed on her lower lip, trying to restrain her laughter at Aurore's distraught expression. “What was the drink?”

“Coffee,” was the reply with a visible wince. “It was really cold that evening, then I went to shake his hand and it just went _everywhere_ , and I think he might have squeaked in pain, but I'm not really sure.”

If it was still a hot beverage, she would've certainly squeaked in pain from it falling over her. “What a lovely first impression. Well, he did know your name when you disappeared at Max's event—he didn't call you a demon or anything else, so I think you're okay.”

“I hope so.” She sniffed. “Otherwise he wouldn't approve of me being your girlfriend.”

She choked on her coffee, throat suddenly feeling tight and eyes burning from her attempt to cough, to breathe freely. After a few moments of frantic coughing with Aurore's hovering hands unsure whether to pat her back in comfort or not, Marinette recovered with pink tinged cheeks and glared playfully at the half-grinning female across the table.

“Girlfriend?” Marinette questioned. “I'll have you know that I'd be well aware if we're dating—gossip magazines think I'm currently with Adrien. Does that mean you've been woefully sad from my infidelity?”

“Awfully.” Aurore grinned. “Anyway, girlfriend. Do you want to come out to a nightclub at the weekend? Chloé actually _asked_ if you were coming.”

“Well...” Marinette started awkwardly, her hand self-consciously trailing across to touch her elbow. “I'm not too fond of them, really.”

The blonde quirked an eyebrow. “You're fond of me, though.”

Somehow Aurore had managed to convince her to attend. Marinette trailed home while shaking her head; the blonde had harped on about how shocked Chloé would actually be, and the fact that Aurore was speculating that the uppity-female would attempt to befriend her, although it would be quite half-heartedly.

By the time Alya was back from class, a mountain of new lingerie for the blog's shop was ready and placed into a box upon the red-head's bed. Alya had shouted loudly in happiness and announced that she was making Marinette's favourite meal for dinner, and while she was trying to calm down the excited bespectacled female, Rose had came charging through the flat with her hair mused and askew, cheeks flushed and looking much like she'd ran a marathon.

“...Hello,” Marinette started slowly, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I-I am—fuck, I'm leaving! I'm _going_!” Rose babbled, rushing forward to open the cupboards for the selected items that she had in mind.

Alya jumped into action first. “Are you okay?”

“Did someone make fun of your cast again?” Marinette asked.

Rose held up her free hand, indicating for them to be quiet so she could talk. The bag she carried for university was perched upon the countertop, the contents from within thrown onto the side as she replaced the items with packaged sweets that they'd stored away for a rainy day.

“Rose,” Marinette tried again, watching as the blonde placed the bag back on and began to walk towards the door with an expression of determination.

Thankfully, she paused in the doorway and looked conflicted for a moment. “I need to go,” she started in a small voice, fingers running through her short hair to distract her. “The... I just got a call from the hospital, finally. He's woken up.”

“Scrapbook Boy?”

“Don't call him that!” Rose snapped at the red-head, narrowing her eyes in her direction—and for the first time, it wasn't playfully. It was one of the first times since the blonde had hit her teenage years that Marinette could remember that she was defending a male that wasn't a celebrity. “He's not coherent, but I want to be there for him—there's no family members, still, and it'll be awful if he's alone when he realises what's happening.”

A small smile played on Marinette's lips. “Okay,” she said softly, trying to express that she understood. “Travel safely.”

Alya didn't protest either. “Make sure to call your parents beforehand, and contact your professors tomorrow, too.”

Just before she left, Marinette called, “What about Nino's interview?”

“I'll watch it another time!”

Her eyes trailed to Alya's, the two of them raising their eyebrows in surprise. Rose watched his interview religiously, and it was absolutely rare for her to willingly miss one—if she was on vacation, she tried to watch the interviews on her cell phone or attempt to find a television at the warm place she'd travelled to.

When the atmosphere had calmed down after Rose had disappeared into the distance and began her journey home, Marinette retreated into her bedroom after dinner. Stretching her arms above her head, she checked her e-mails and sighed in frustration from the amount of reporters that had contacted her, yet again.

There was an absence of a certain name on the list.

Marinette bit her lip, wondering whether to pursue her trail of thought.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_Subject: Soufflé_

_Hello,_

_Thank you for the time and space; I'm sure I'm ready to converse with you again. I'd like to apologise for the misunderstandings again, and ask whether you'd like to forget about them to move on._

_Yours,  
Marinette_.'

It was during her lesson where Nathaniel was absent, again, when she found the time to check her e-mails during the professor's lecture. She assumed that the red-head had disappeared for his job another time, and that was why the professors weren't permitted to say any information about where he'd vanished to—they had hedged around the answers before, after all. Marinette stopped doodling upon her paper to illuminate her cell phone, eyes searching the column of names looking for the particular one she wanted to see.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Marinette,_

_Thank you for replying. I was becoming worried that you didn't want to talk to me any more._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Although she had excused herself from their conversation, there wasn't much that had indicated that she had wanted to cut communication between the two of them. She didn't feel as strangely relieved as she did with Adrien when she had came clean around her deceit—perhaps, the fact that he hadn't reacted at all how she'd predicted from any of her imaginary scenarios was part of the reason.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Chat,_

_Should I say how I've missed you and your awful puns, or would that inflate your ego?_

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

The professor droned on before snapping at a student for not paying attention at the front. Marinette gnawed on her lower lip, unsure whether to risk herself with the illuminated screen in her hands—the windows were covered within the room, so it was darkened and without enough light so it was earlier to see the screen at the front by the professor.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Marinette,_

_Well, just about any positive attention inflates it. Sorry we didn't get to talk at Chloé's, though. I was caught up._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

She blinked. And blinked again. She read through the e-mail countless times, checking whether he'd edited his words in a new e-mail, or if the words were truly correct and she was wondering whether she'd imagined their last encounter in person. His reaction had been rather odd, definitely, but what did he mean with his message? He most definitely wasn't intoxicated when he'd arrived, so that theory of why he'd forgotten was gone. Marinette knitted her eyebrows together, only snapping out of her trail of thought when students began to pass by her with a few strange stares directed her way. Marinette shook her head, shoved her cell phone into the back pocket of her shorts and decided to deal with it later.

When she remembered about her predicament, she was relaxing into her mattress listening to Alya's mumbles and grumbles in the next room, only muffled slightly by the thin walls.

“Well,” Marinette mused, looking through her messages, “I didn't hear these.”

The headphones on her ears had muffled the noise on the way home. Marinette replied to her parents, and Rose who'd sent a small update, and replied to Manon's hysterical babbling about the interview that she'd finally seen. The last message, however, was from Adrien that caused her to narrow her eyes at.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__How does Thursday sound for you? In the evening, of course._ '

It took a few moments to realise what he meant.

' _Marinette:  
__Will you tell me where we're going? I'm curious what our younger selves wanted to do._ '

There were a few options, and a lot of them seemed like they were suitable for young children. What was available late in the evening that nine-year-olds, or younger, would enjoy?

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__It's a secret, sweetheart._ '

She squinted. Was it a clue, or was he calling her bad names? Darling was pushing it at times, but she allowed it within good humour in their conversations. Marinette tapped her fingernails on the illuminated screen, pondering her reply while allowing her laptop to start up to access her e-mails.

' _Marinette:  
__I'm assuming it has something to do with sweets. Watch your weight, handsome boy._ '

There was no doubt that his diet was restricted, especially as he never drank more than a few sips of alcohol at events, too.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Chat,_

_That's okay. When did you arrive?_

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

She'd mulled over her words carefully and chose the most cryptic ones.

The reply came when she was halfway through making a lace-trimmed skirt.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Marinette,_

_After you left, unfortunately. Maybe we'll see each other at the next one._

_Yours,  
Chat._ '

She swallowed to cure her suddenly dry throat.

Marinette clenched her hands anxiously, gripping the material of the skirt in her lap in confusion. _After_ she had left? They had conversed before then—she had excused herself and then left. Adrien had even seen and spoken to her, which was per his request, or so she had assumed.

Blinking rapidly to soothe the burning sensation of her eyes, she took deep breaths before reading over the messages, making sure she understood the contents without jumping to conclusions.

She stared at the screen.

“It's not Nino,” she concluded incredulously.

Nino had conversed with her that evening, and most definitely saw her excuse herself and leave. Nino _knew_ about her amnesia and had comforted her during her stumbling apology with an odd expression. The tanned male had asked his cousin—

No, that wasn't right, was it?

Perhaps saying it aloud would help her comprehend. “Chat's not Nino.”

She breathed loudly.

It was her assumption, after all. The e-mails had never explicitly said it was Nino from the beginning—except she'd contacted Nino's manager, hadn't she?

Her nails were clawing onto her thighs as she scrolled through the sent e-mails, looking for the first e-mail that she had sent to Nino's agent. Once she'd confirmed the name, making sure to jot it down on a piece of paper beside her, Marinette browsed the internet to make sure she had the correct information in the first place. Her throat felt parched when she looked at the information before her—there were new articles about the manager since the reveal about Nino's and Adrien's connection came to light. She scrolled through the various articles that were on the first page, looking through the details that were revealed.

Both cousins had two managers. They shared one that was for within France only, and had more hands on managers for the rest of the time.

“D'Argencourt,” she concluded, hands running through her hair in frustration.

The manager had passed her e-mail onto Adrien—clearly the one who had left her the letter, the one who she'd addressed as ' _Boy_ ' in the past, and she'd foolishly assumed it was someone else.

She licked her lips.

The assumption had been fully on her part, she realised quickly. When they had arranged to meet, no wonder she'd literally crashed into the blond-haired male at the light reveal, or that she'd walked into the designated café which resulted in him asking for her to sit down. And oh, _goodness—_ she'd asked how he knew her name!

Pulling at the hairs at her temples, Marinette took a deep breath.

“It's not Nino,” she repeated, almost hysterically.

Nino hadn't been the one that had sent sweet messages that occasionally woke her up at strange hours of the morning, and he certainly wasn't the one that had been so heartbreakingly charming during their conversation. No wonder that strange tight feeling in her chest that had been there previously in their long exchanges hadn't transferred to the bespectacled male in person—he wasn't the one that had said any of that anyway.

It couldn't have just been a slip up and Nino had forgotten they'd conversed—it had to be _not_ him.

Yet, she found herself questioning more than before.

When they'd spoken at the company, Nino had mentioned a girl that he was smitten with—but it couldn't mean her. In his previous webcast, she remembered a section where the two cousins had teased each other about liking girls—it wasn't her.

The ' _m_ ' he'd uttered could have been for a nickname he called her, or simply the girl's name could have started with it. All she knew that it _wasn't_ her.

She felt like she needed to raid the stash of alcohol they kept in their kitchen as she scoured through the internet to find the previous webcast, just to confirm her suspicions.

“Adrien is Chat,” she murmured with a breathy voice as she paused the video. “ _Adrien_ is Chat.”

When he'd called after she'd said she didn't remember their childhood in the café, she'd called him Nino on the phone. She could recall the smile that didn't reach his eyes before she'd left, and now that she knew _why_ and it knocked the breath out of her lungs with guilt. Her throat was dry, parched, and absolutely uncomfortable but she felt that she deserved it at that moment—just trying to imagine how confused and disappointed Adrien had felt when they had finally met in person.

A hysterical bubble of laughter burst from her throat.

 _Chat_ had given her Adrien's number. Did he have two cell phones? Why? Was one a cell phone designed for work that he'd given her in the first place, or had he given her that one the second time?

He'd clearly had expectations of their relationship. The small, intimate stories that the blond had slowly revealed to her had clearly suggested that they were particularly close.

“It's Adrien.”

She gnawed on her lower lip.

The little comments when she was actually aware she was talking to him—saying they were married, calling her sweet nicknames that were just a little bit endearing but she had simply assumed they were in good humour. Was he—oh, _fuck_ , were they going on a date together on Thursday?

Her heartbeat wasn't steady.

“It was always Adrien.”

He... Marinette covered her mouth to stifle the slightly maniacal laughter that came in spurts. He'd—no, _Chat_ , had made an argument about Adrien. By that point, Adrien had assumed the vague identity of his cousin while conversing with her, and had purposely began to mention the relationship between her and his actual self. He—he was conniving, hysterically sweet, and absolutely a little bit insane, and that caused tears of mirth to wet her eyes as she gasped for breath from the laughter.

He wasn't trying to hurt her—that much was clear. Goodness, he was pushing her towards him with his ridiculous assumed identity, just so he didn't have to potentially break her heart by telling her the truth.

It wasn't particularly smart; it was fucking stupid, but the ridiculous idea had her smiling nonetheless.

How was he planning to continue, though? In one of _Chat's_ latest e-mails had asked whether she was okay with possibly having a relationship of sorts between them; how was he going to proceed from there on? Although he had certainly communicated more with her recently with his actual identity, she was curious about what his plan exactly was—slowly let the communication between her and Chat dwindle while he pursued friendship with her in person? What if she went to Nino with her questions, though? Did—Marinette gnawed on her lip in worry—goodness, did Nino know about it?

“No,” she mused, shaking her head. If he knew that they were conversing at all, it was unlikely that he'd allowed the blond to assume his identity.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Chat,_

_Perhaps one day when the stars align our meetings won't end up in disaster._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

-x-

The only information that the blond had been willing to supply was that she needed to dress casual, slightly warm for the weather, and that didn't soothe the burning curiosity that was piqued from all the ideas spiralling within her head. Marinette had sent her address and was waiting on the pavement outside, nervously rocking on the heels of her boots to distract her attention. Alya had disappeared to spend the night at Alix's, surprisingly, and hadn't questioned Marinette's frizzy hair from the constant touching and kneading she'd done around her temples from restless hands. She'd nervously clad herself in a ebony pinafore dress, with a scarlet dots along the small intricate trim along the bottom, with a white long-sleeved t-shirt underneath, a knitted hat after she'd brushed her loose and ridiculously mused hair to hide the effects of her nerves, and slipped on a dark crimson-coloured cardigan upon the top for the weather.

She wondered whether the outfit was too casual. The thigh-high socks she'd been eyeing might have been a nice addition, or a completely different outfit that didn't show her legs so she could claw into her thighs from anxiety when he wasn't looking.

A sleek car that was black, ever-so-shiny with tinted windows drove up and stopped by the curb, engine purring and continuing to run as a door at the back slowly opened. She should have expected that Adrien wouldn't have been the one driving, or that they wouldn't be getting a taxi, but when the blond stepped out of the car with a wide grin on his face, Marinette's expression clearly showed her surprise on her expression.

“...Hi,” she started, eyes trailing between him and the open door.

Adrien smiled softly and parroted, “Hi.”

“You have a chauffeur,” Marinette blurted, cheeks warming to a rosy colour from embarrassment.

He nodded slowly. “I should've mentioned that, eh?”

She toyed with the small bag strap on one shoulder. “Maybe.”

The seats within were a soft ivory-coloured and they were clearly expensive—if she had worn anything leather, even faux, then she assumed that she would've slid right off of the seats and fallen onto the clean floor. Marinette almost tripped as she climbed into the car, thankfully managing to maintain her balance at the last moment, and scooted across to press her fabric-clad shoulder to press against the window. Adrien climbed in after, and she noted thankfully that he sat on the farthest seat (leaving one adequately seat between them).

Her fingers twitched.

“Any ideas yet?”

She had been adamantly watching their surroundings through the tinted windows, trying to figure out in which direction that they were going. The chauffeur was a large, bulky man with gray hairs by his temples and a stern expression while he drove. He was silent, and only responded to Adrien's polite prompting of wanting to begin their journey with a stiff nod of his head.

“I'm not sure,” Marinette mused whimsically, noticing that they had stopped from traffic. “Something sweet, right?”

It was obvious from the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “Maybe.”

From her peripheral vision, Marinette saw him bouncing one leg repeatedly. “You're good at keeping secrets, aren't you?” she found herself saying, watching him for his reaction.

His leg stopped moving. “Maybe,” Adrien repeated.

Maybe, indeed. A smile played on her lips as she shifted in her seat, tilting her head slightly to the side to see the sheepish expression that had appeared on his face. “Adrien,” she called, aware that her heart had started to beat erratically.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“What's your stance on cat puns?”

Comically, he blinked in surprise before breathy laughter escaped his lips, and his body shook with the guffaws as he shook his head in mirth. “Really?” he asked, voice deeper from use. “I thought you were going to ask something profound.”

Her lips quivered as she tried to keep a straight expression. “This is very important.”

“Well, I've sent you one,” he mused, running a hand through the stray strands of golden hair, “so you can imagine that I'm not opposed to them.”

No wonder he had named himself Chat.

She smiled. “Good to know.”

The car stilled to a stop before their conversation could start up again. Marinette watched as the blond beside her visibly smiled, looking through the tinted windows with chin raised in the air to fully see the view. She peered around his shoulder, their destination becoming clearer when he exited the vehicle and stood outside, holding the door open for her. Marinette emerged from the car and smoothed the material of her dress, looking around the area with a wondrous expression.

It was an average sized fair, with brightly-coloured stalls filled with different selections of food and drinks, various small games and competitions to take part in, and large rides that were sure to make her stomach flip if she were to experience them. Marinette took in the bright lights, the variety of banners and the loud positive music that was blaring throughout the field.

“It's a fair,” she stated.

Adrien shut the door behind them gently. “It's _the_ fair.”

This was where they had wanted to go when they were young, and she could definitely see the location with child-like wonder from the bright lights to the various attractions. If the fair had survived over a decade, then it was surely very popular when it was open. As her eyes trailed to the loud and vibrant crowds of people, who were partaking in games and indulging on high-calorie foods.

“Apparently so,” she agreed, rocking on her heels. His chauffeur had disappeared, driving into the distance until they were done, probably. “So, what did we want to do first?”

His grin reached his eyes, and with the bright lights reflecting in the deep emerald, he certainly looked very happy. “Various things, darling. I'll escort you through and point out which you particularly wanted to do.”

“Okay.” Marinette fell into step beside him, head turning in different directions to see the attractions from a different view, and as they walked slowly to the side of the crowds, she was aware that her stance was rather shy and awkward, and that the male beside her was exuding excitement in an endearing way. “How much are you allowed to eat tonight?”

His grin was lopsided as they made eye contact. “Officially, not much. Let's just hope no one takes pictures of me eating too many doughnuts.”

She wrinkled her nose. “How many is too many, though?”

“One is.” He laughed.

Their footsteps were drowned out by the loud beats of the music, and as the blond stopped in front of the first stall and lightly grasped her hand to pull her to a stop, Marinette let out a squeak of surprise and then coloured considerably. Adrien's grin grew at the noise, and he squeezed her hand briefly in a comforting gesture before letting her fall to her side, and gestured to the stall. It was a ridiculous game involving water guns, and all she could think of while they were playing was that it really did seem like the childish game she would've enjoyed. They were both equally awful at it, in the end, and as they shared grins when the individual running the stall said that they both had failed to win and prizes and would have to pay once again to attempt more tries.

“You certainly didn't bring me here to impress me,” Marinette commented as they searched for their next designated stall.

His grin grew. “It was for you to impress me, actually; you always beat me at every game we ever played.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I'm not exactly sweeping you off your feet, am I?”

“You could always trip me over instead,” Adrien said with a wink.

Despite the colouring of her cheeks, Marinette stuck her tongue out childishly before running off and selecting a stall herself. It was a shooting game, and when she won a prize with a loud noise of surprise, Adrien was still smiles despite the slightly disgruntled expression on his face. Then a pattern appeared—Adrien would heartily attempt to win the selected game by going first and fail gloriously with a grin or a groan, and then Marinette would snatch his weapon of choice and upstage him, evening if it was only marginally. There were a few good-hearted taunts and jabs thrown in, and Marinette found herself enjoying his company thoroughly with tears of mirth pooling in her eyes, and as she met his eyes and saw the slightly flushed cheeks and happiness reflected within his expression, a revelation ran through her.

 _He_ was Chat.

The blond-haired male that was wearing a rather tight shirt that clung to his skin, showing a slight glimpse of abdomen when he raised his arms, and clad in designer jeans that did wonders for his legs and physique in general, was the same man who had been sending her stupid, absolutely childish and very ridiculous cat puns through e-mails. He was the one that had stirred up such warm feelings, the one that had she'd—

She tried to keep the curse in. “Oh, _fuck_.”

He was the one she'd almost touched herself to.

He was the one that _had_ touched himself to her.

“Marinette?”

His voice snapped her out of her daze. She looked at him with vibrantly flushed cheeks for a moment before averting her eyes from his curious expression. They were stood beside the first food stall that they'd ventured to, so she pointed to a random confectionery in hopes that it would be okay, just so she could rock on her heels in pent up embarrassment on the side. When Adrien joined her holding a slightly shiny looking treat for himself in one hand, and a small plate that had something almost completely covered in icing on the other, she accepted it with an oddly neutral expression, adamantly staring at her hands rather than him.

“Are you okay?” he questioned.

With a jerky nod of her head, Marinette grasped the gooey treat in one hand and took a bigger bite than intended and almost choked on it. Her cheeks were permanently coloured by that point, and as Adrien placed a concern hand on her fabric-clad arm, she chewed thoroughly before swallowing loudly.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern. “What's wrong?”

“...Just hungry,” she rasped.

“Well, you've got icing all over your face now,” Adrien pointed out with a laugh, reaching forward to swipe the sugar from her cheeks.

Marinette stilled from surprise as his fingertips touched her cheeks, lifting some parts of the icing in the process. He wrinkled his nose at the texture, rubbing his index finger and thumb together with the sticky substance.

The grin upon his lips grew wolfish. “Your sweet tooth is quite endearing, my dear.”

She licked her lips.

After he wiped his hand on a napkin, that he was storing in his back pocket, they gnawed on their foods while walking slowly through the fair. She cleaned her face and willed herself not to flush from the soft laughter from her actions. A shoulder jostled her from the crowd and she tripped, only regaining balance since the blond beside her caught her wrist and an arm wrapped around her lower back to keep her steady. Marinette froze in his mock embrace, before her hands were pawing at his limbs to push him away with incoherent words spilling from her lips.

“Marinette,” he called again, drawing her attention from the grumbled words as they stood face-to-face.

She licked her lips. “Adrien.”

“You...” Adrien trailed off, and as her eyes trailed down to his empty hands, she realised that from the jostling that they'd both dropped their food onto the floor accidentally (her from the fall, him from catching her before she joined the confectionery). “There's no need to be nervous around me.”

She shifted on her heels.

Their shoes were almost touching from the short distance between them. Marinette regretted the hat choice; if her mused hair was free, then perhaps the heat of her face wouldn't have been so concentrated. As he smiled gently at her, a non-threatening gesture that warmed her heart, showing the soft, barely there dimples on his cheeks and watched as the golden strands were blown by the breeze that she was convinced were most definitely the reason for the shiver working through her body.

She found herself asking softly, “Why would I be nervous?”

“I don't know,” Adrien replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “There's been something... reserved about you tonight; if my assumption of nerves was wrong, then I apologise.”

“You're not wrong,” she blurted, an uncomfortable fluttering feeling appearing in her stomach as they made eye contact. “I—” Marinette cut herself off, taking deep breaths to calm her beating heart. “It's pretty, well, surreal to be here with you.”

The smile on his lips grew. “No one's harassed us, though.”

“Not yet,” she mumbled.

His expression was gentle, gentler than she had expected, as he lifted a free hand in offering with his intentions clear. Marinette stared at the offered hand, noticing the lack of scars littering his skin and the smooth and even skin tone—if she squinted, she swore she could see tiny, barely there callouses that were just as miniscule as his dimples. With flushed cheeks and a grip that was too tight, Marinette slipped her hand into his and stiffly walked forward, tugging him along as he tried to muffle his laughter at her attitude.

“Marinette,” he called, pulling her to a stop. “Hey.”

The skin beneath his fingers was slightly rough, and that was the only rugged part of him. Adrien gently squeezed her hand in a comforting gesture, but it did nothing to soothe her rapid pulse.

His voice was soft, like a caress rolling off his tongue. “Am I bothering you?”

 _He_ was Chat.

“No,” she whispered.

Opening his mouth to talk a few times but deciding to close it at the last moment, Marinette watched his lips move as he pondered, visibly, over his response.

Her hand twitched within his.

“...Did you want Nino here, too?”

It was easy to read between the lines—would she prefer for her idea of Chat to be there?

Chat was there, though.

“No,” Marinette repeated, slightly stronger than before. With more bravery than she had thought she could muster, she linked her fingers through his in an intimate gesture and squeezed slightly, revelling in the warmth of his skin against hers.

His answering smile was almost blinding.

And then, so were the flashes of cameras around them. Marinette gasped and gaped visibly, taken aback by the sudden onslaught of the shutter sound that was audible over the music pumping through the speakers of the fair; there were white spots appearing in her vision, and she felt slightly dizzy very suddenly from the sheer amount of confusion running through her. Adrien muttered something under his breath, but she wasn't able to understand it. His grip on her hand tightened, tugging her towards the direction of the exit with her feet almost tripping over the floor.

There was no conversation between them, but from the frown on his lips and the small crease of frustration between his eyebrows, he was surely irritated by the turn of events. Although it was certainly not a rare occurrence for him, the dark-haired female had naïvely never considered the possibility of it happening when they were in public. It hadn't happened the time they were in the small restaurant together with Nino, nor the social events because either only a select amount of reporters were allowed inside, or none at all. The possibility should have been buzzing around her head, yet she'd shoved it aside and had been relieved that no one had approached the blond for an autograph that evening. In hindsight, she should've hoped for a few fans rather than five or more photographers, some that were heckling the duo as they advanced towards the sleek car that was parked a few minutes walk away.

His chauffeur didn't say anything when they quickly got in, and she was suddenly thankful for the gaudy tinted windows.

It took a few minutes of driving, and Marinette either staring out of the window at the passing scenery or at their still entwined hands, before she chose to struck up a conversation. Adrien had his elbow propped up against the door, chin within his open palm and a frown clear on his lips—he hadn't expected the night to end that way.

“I had fun,” she started tentatively.

He smiled into his palm.

“That's good,” he murmured.

Hers felt sweaty.

“Why—” Marinette cut herself off, pursing her lips. He obviously had a plan of sorts with the identity he'd created for himself, but how was he planning to deal with their relationship in the coming future? “Thank you for taking me.”

Adrien glanced at her, and as they made eye contact she could see his smile was genuine from the light dimples. “The pleasure was all mine,” he drawled, and she could see the mischievous glint in his eyes, “even married couples need to go on dates.”

She found herself asking, “Was this a date, then?”

Surprise was clear on his expression before he recovered, but the sheer happiness in his smile caused her heartbeat to stutter. “It's whatever you want it to be.”

When the car stuttered to a stop outside of her apartment, Marinette wiped her clammy free hand on the material of her dress discreetly. She hadn't gotten in and scooted to the other side as the first time she'd been inside the car; instead, Marinette slowly detached their hands and felt the cold air from the open door caress her warmed skin, and carefully exited the vehicle without falling flat on her face.

She held onto the roof for support, peering in to meet the grinning blond's eyes.

“Good-bye,” Marinette murmured.

He waved slowly with the hand that had been wrapped around hers. “Farewell.”

-x-

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Chat,_

_I've been pondering over one of your last questions, and I've come to a decision._

_I don't think there's a possibility of being an us any more; I hope you can accept that._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette_.'

-x-

Penny Rolling was all smiles with bright white teeth and burgundy-coloured lipstick when she greeted the interns for their department switch. The others had already commented on her article—Théo had even questioned who she had to pester to get a feature within the magazine already—but she hadn't answered their questions and simply looked at them with a neutral expression. They already knew the results of their previous competition of sorts which Xavier had overlooked; so, when Penny trotted over to the section of the building past her office that had featured Mireille and other models (with scandalous piercings), Marinette shouldn't have been surprised to see the small group that was huddled upon the floor with a pack of cards passed out between them.

Marinette wiped her palms against her ripped jeans when she caught sight of a blond mop of hair. They had speculated since they'd been told their future task that she wouldn't be able to pick Nino, Adrien, or any of the other high-end models that were going to be featured within the show, yet they were sat laughing with their co-workers upon the pristine flooring. Her thoughts didn't wander when she saw Nino's smile, nor when he looked up and waved specifically towards her when the models heard the oncoming noise.

The smile wasn't enough, though. “Hey, Marinette!” Nino called, waving purposely towards her and standing up upon shaking legs. From the mere fact that he almost fell face first onto the floor, and the only reason that he didn't end in disaster from his cousin steadying his body with a huff, Marinette assumed they had been waiting a while. When Penny had strode into their waiting room, she'd simply said to follow them with a blinding smile without explaining anything they were going to be doing that day.

She waved, cheeks colouring from the blatant stares in her direction. “Hey.”

Penny cleared her throat and clapped her hands together for added effect, drawing their attention in. With her hands on her hips, her smile grew. “Well, it looks like everyone is here,” she started, eyes trailing between the group of models that were standing upright, lean and tall, while the interns were huddled quite awkwardly together. “I'm sure you're aware that Xavier thought it would be fun for one of them to win the rights to choose who to model for one outfit of the show.”

One of them? Manon's hand slid into hers, and the dark-haired female squeezed in return at the offered information. They hadn't been informed that only the winner would be allowed to choose—were the others there to help, or would they somehow be allowed to style one, too?

“Vincent,” Penny called with a coy smile. “Why don't you come here and select whoever you fancy?”

The wording had Marinette shifting uncomfortably.

The blond didn't move from their little group. Vincent stayed on the other side of Théo, and in a move that didn't shock anyone that knew him, he selected an up-and-coming model that was dark-skinned and in his late twenties rather than a female.

She counted fifteen models remaining. There was an equal number of each gender, and some of the faces were familiar. Within the line-up was Mireille and her red-haired friend that she'd spoken to before, along with models that she'd seen within magazines but never in the flesh (perhaps they had passed each other within the halls without realising).

“And now for the remaining four of you,” Penny said, a sly smile upon her painted lips, “why don't we have the models choose if they want to be styled by you, eh?” Well, that answered whether they would be allowed to participate as much as the blond—she just had to be deemed suitable by an adventurous model. “If any model would like to, please step towards them—only one per stylist, of course; it's first come first serve.”

She made the mistake of meeting Mireille's eyes. The dark-haired model grinned openly and pointed behind an open palm to the two cousins, in a gesture that wasn't at all discreet (she could feel Manon shaking with contained laughter at it).

“Go ahead, then.”

It should've been clear even sooner—hadn't Nino silently persuaded her to sit beside the blond at the restaurant, too? With a shove that was quite audible, the curly-haired male pushed his cousin towards her and he literally tripped over his feet. Marinette wildly flailed her hands in an attempt to catch him, but he managed to regain his balance a few centimetres in front of her and flushed as he glared at Nino.

He soothed the material of his clothes before announcing his choice. “Marinette.”

Théo was picked by Mireille's red-headed friend. Simon was a quivering mess of nerves that wasn't picked, unfortunately. When Marinette turned to look at her brunette friend's expression, she had to bite her lower lip to restrain her laughter at the disgruntled expression from Nino choosing her.

“Well, thank you for choosing... some,” Penny said with raised eyebrows when her gaze trailed to Simon, who was clenching his hands anxiously from having not been chosen, “have no worries, interns. You'll still be doing the same amount of work as each other. Take a few minutes to acquaint yourselves with your model, and then you can have the day off.” And with that, Penny swept her body down in a elegant bow that was good humoured and departed, leaving the interns to look at her departing form with confused expressions.

“She's always like that,” Adrien murmured, interrupting her gawking. “Don't worry about it.”

“Good to know,” she replied, raising her eyebrows when she realised how close he was standing. “You haven't seen any of my designs—I hope you didn't pick me for our friendship.”

His lips twitched. “I can't have you undressing other men right in front of me.”

Surprisingly, she didn't splutter. “I'm not sure that's classed as in-fur-delity.”

His reaction to the cat pun should've been obvious. Adrien burst into unexpected laughter and clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound, but they still brought attention to themselves. His chortles disappeared soon after and her lips were curled into a proud grin from the incredulous expressions her fellow interns were shooting her—if she were to focus on Manon, she was sure the female would gesture something obscene at her.

“We were all shown your work with Xavier first,” he confessed, cheeks slightly coloured from his laughter. “So it's not a completely blind pick.”

She hummed. “I see.”

He'd opened his mouth to reply, but the tinkling of bells cut him off. Marinette mumbled a quick apology and retrieved her cell phone from her back pocket, illuminating the screen and knitting her eyebrows together in confusion as she read the name upon the message.

Her eyes widened considerably and she almost dropped her phone in shock when she saw the contents, however.

' _Alya Césaire:  
__Isn't it hot today? Though I do wish this was you._ '

It wasn't just a message. A picture was attached underneath of her red-headed friend with crimson-stained lips that were wrapped around a frozen popsicle suggestively—and _fuck_ that was Rose's last popsicle, she was going to be so annoyed—with her nose being the top of the picture, and ample cleavage on show from her short, tight white crop top with her black brassiere visible through the material.

Her grip tightened around her cell phone, clutching it against her chest in horror as Adrien had picked up on her strange reaction and she'd realised he could possibly see—see that her best friend had accidentally sent her a dirty message and picture, right in the middle of work.

She met Adrien's curious expression with a pale face, and his raised eyebrows didn't help the matter.

Bells sounded despite the fact her cell phone was crushed against her chest. From the multiple sounds, she'd assumed that Alya had realised her error and had began to badger her with two possible attitudes; either she was going to be horribly embarrassed, or simply go along with it and make the best of the situation.

Marinette took a step back, making sure no one could see her screen.

' _Alya Césaire:  
__Oh, fucking fuck. So very much fuck. At least tell me my breasts look okay._ '

The first message had her spluttering in contained laughter.

' _Alya Césaire:  
__Actually, do you think I should take a different picture? Is the popsicle too much?_ '

 _Really_? Marinette's grip on her cell phone grew tighter.

' _Alya Césaire:  
__Oh, it'll be fine. He'll get an erection anyway. Thanks for your help, Mari! Go back to work!_ '

“ _Alya_ ,” she hissed hysterically at her screen, unsure how to respond to the sudden blasé attitude that her friend was portraying. She knew that the red-head was rather open with her body, but the fact that she wasn't embarrassed had Marinette awed at her confidence.

“...You okay, Marinette?”

Adrien's voice broke her out of her trail of thought.

“Yes,” she croaked, clearing her throat after. “My friend sent me a message that, well, it was—it _wasn't_ meant for me.“

He blinked. “Okay.”

The steady beat of a popular song filled the studio for a moment, and she quickly realised it was a particularly loud alert from a cell phone as Nino pawed at his jacket in search for the device. His lips split into a wide, sincere grin showing his small dimples when he read the screen, and Marinette watched in muted horror as she could briefly see an image reflected in his spectacles—perhaps others saw it, too, if they had focused for that small detail. It was clear to see how happy he was, and as he excused himself to a disgruntled Manon and waved in farewell to the other models before exiting the room, Marinette could only let her eyes trail after his with a suddenly pale face.

She was a fucking idiot—it was just confirmed.

She'd seen her best friend's sultry picture reflected in Nino's spectacles, and that was confirmation enough that her red-headed friend hadn't been delusional that she was the one messaging Nino—in fact, Marinette had been the deluded one that had wrongly assumed such things.

And she wanted to curl up back into her small ball of denial and make sure that Alya would _never_ find out about her stupidity.

“Sorry to cut this short, but he's my ride today. Good-bye, Marinette!” Adrien interjected, waving briefly in farewell before tailing out of the room in search of his cousin.

When she'd arrived home, Alya started to rave about the positive reaction her message had gotten and profusely thanked the dark-haired female for her help, and Marinette had nodded dumbly and simply asked her to not make it a repeated occurrence. Alya had cackled with laughter when Marinette told her the tale of Manon's disgruntled reaction, especially when Nino had waltzed up to her with a friendly grin and she'd frowned right back at him.

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Marinette,_

_I'll respect your decision, though I am quite confused by how sudden it was. I'll back off if it'll make you happy._

_Sincerely,  
Chat_.'

If he could scheme while trying not to hurt her, then she could reciprocate.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Chat,_

_I apologise, still. It seems my heart is fickle._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

-x-

The models hadn't been there the following day. Penny had passed out folders containing details on each of the models, including their sizes and in case they were allergic to any foods or anything else that could cause a disaster, and Marinette found herself quite disappointed that she didn't run into a blond-haired male within the hallways. Manon had grumbled about her choice of model the whole time, and then they were sent off to do specific tasks for the rest of the day.

By the time she was relaxing at home, her cell phone rang.

“Hello?” Marinette answered, barely stifling a yawn.

“ _Marinette_ , my love!”

Right. The sound of Aurore's loud, excited and bubbly voice reminded her of what she'd agreed to earlier in the week. “...I forgot.”

“I thought so,” the blonde replied, amusement clear in her tone. “You have about fifteen minutes to get ready—the car will be outside waiting for you after that.” And with that, Aurore ended the call leaving the dark-haired female gaping at her cell phone.

Nightclubs weren't her forté. Marinette dressed herself in a tight dress with no sleeves that fell above mid-thigh, showing a glimpse of cleavage and coloured a beautiful deep navy that she'd originally wanted to use for scraps before she'd altered the dress for special occasions; which, apparently, meant being invited out with Aurore and Chloé to disappear into the night. Marinette touched up her make-up from earlier that day and used her small bag with the strap on her shoulder to store her small amount of possessions before ranting quickly to Alya about where she was disappearing off to.

She should've expected the experience of being picked up by someone with obvious wealth to be just as gaudy as when Adrien had done it. A sleek ivory-coloured car pulled up beside the pavement, and the door was pushed open for her to see three faces within—one welcoming, another pondering whether she was worthy of their time, still, and the other sparking a feeling of recognition within her and equally bewildered her at the same time. She climbed into the car and slid onto the leather seat, thighs sticking to the shiny material instantly.

“You cleaned up well,” Chloé murmured, eyes appreciatively eyeing her dress.

“Thank you?” Her reply came out as a question.

The third female turned out to be named Sabrina—she was the female that Marinette had bumped into at the park, and the strange comment that red-head had uttered to her was still spiralling around in her mind. Through the night she picked up little hints and clues about the relationship the new female had with Aurore and Chloé, hoping to find out the mystery. She found out that Sabrina had an apartment across the hall from Aurore, and that the blonde had jokingly convinced their neighbours to leave recyclable materials outside of the red-head's door repeatedly over the months.

“This is the first time I've met Sabrina,” Marinette murmured as they were walking along the pavement back to the car, and she was certainly thankful that she hadn't consumed too much alcohol, “does she not come out often?”

Aurore laughed. “She's very efficient; has to complete projects or anything else before she's willing to come out with us. Chloé's particularly close to her, actually. Sabrina used to tutor her in school.”

She blinked. “You've known her a long time.”

“Oh, yes,” the blonde agreed, twirling a curl of her golden hair around her finger. “Her parents won the lottery around, well, ten years ago, I think? She moved and transferred to our school after that.”

Ten years ago meant there was a possibility that they had known each other, then. “Did she live near my parents?”

“Why the fuck would I—wait, I _do_ know where your parents live, even if you haven't introduced us.” Aurore sniffed. “I saw it within a gossip magazine, actually; they even mentioned how good the food was. Are your parents bribing the reporters?”

Marinette snapped her fingers to catch the rambling blonde's attention. “Did she live near there?”

“Yes!” Aurore said, grinning widely. “Her neighbour was some old guy that kept convincing her parents that they needed to change their tea to be happier in life. Apparently, the day they did was when they won the lottery. That guy is a fucking _genius_.”

She pursed her lips.

Despite her attempts to start conversation with Sabrina through to the early hours of the morning, the red-head wasn't very open to them; she wasn't talkative at all, actually. Marinette had watched as Chloé had nattered on and Sabrina had hummed or nodded her head in time with her words, simply making the appropriate noises and gestures to keep the one-sided conversation flowing. It was unclear whether Sabrina was genuinely enjoying herself towards the end. As Chloé and Aurore stumbled into the car, Sabrina had had half as much to drink as the two blondes while Marinette had stayed away from brightly-coloured liquids in favour of any carbonated drink she could get a hold of, just to keep her wits for work the next morning.

-x-

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Soufflé_

_Marinette,_

_Then I hope your heart decides on the right man for you._

_Sincerely,  
Chat._ '

This was his plan, then. Slowly push her towards his actual self and then say he understood, completely, and had no hard feelings about their brief relationship—was he going to let her think it was Nino all along? How _awkward_ would it have been if she'd approached the curly-haired male and struck up the topic with the intent to know more? Adrien had been inexplicably lucky that she was a coward at confrontation most of the time, and that was honestly frustrating. If their positions had ever been reserved, there was no chance the odd identity swap would've gone so well.

She wanted to toy with him—have him squirm and wonder whether she knew the truth before she revealed she did in the best way possible.

' _Marinette D-C_  
to Bulle-Chat  
RE: Soufflé

_Chat,_

_I realised from our unfortunate not-quite-meetings that this wouldn't work between us—it seems that fate is against us, actually._

_Thank you for pushing me towards your cousin (unintentionally)._

_Sincerely,  
Marinette._ '

She hoped he choked when he read it—just a small payback that he deserved, even slightly.

“Marinette?”

The female in question partially flinched. “Sorry,” she apologised, shoving her cell phone within her bag and smoothing the material of her dress. “I was distracted.”

“I noticed.” When she looked up and get a pair of kind emerald eyes that were framed by thick black eyelashes, she recognised the female as the model that had chosen Théo, and the one that she had conversed with beside Mireille previously. Marinette smiled, taking in her doll-like features from the blazing red hair that was styled into curls with a ribbon wrapped around as a hairband, the light dusting of freckles upon her cheeks, paired with a sweet dress that had a bow underneath a collar. “I'm Caline, by the way.”

She accepted the offered hand. “It's nice to meet you.”

The other interns had already wandered off from lunch, and Marinette had taken a few moments so search through her e-mails at the suddenly empty table.

“I'm going to be blunt, if that's okay,” the red-head started, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, revealing a single piercing upon her cartilage. At Marinette's inquisitive expression and slow nod, she continued, “If I don't ask, then someone much... harsher will, so—are you Adrien's girlfriend?”

She was thankful she'd already finished eating.

“No,” she choked out, cheeks warming despite the denial. “If I was, I don't see why that would be any of your business.”

Caline shrugged, an easy smile upon her lips. “That's what I thought, though; the other girls were a bit snappy after we saw you on Friday. I'm just going to kill the rumour mill for you.”

“I'm not sure whether to thank you or not,” the dark-haired female blurted, unsure whether it was a sign of friendliness or if Caline had an ulterior motive with their conversation. “Why would knowing if I'm Adrien's girlfriend matter?”

Caline blinked. “He's rejected just about anyone who's asked, always saying he already has a girlfriend. Some are still stinging from the rejection—although he was rather sweet about it, really—and were wondering if you were the mysterious girl. The tabloids certainly seem to think so.”

The news warmed her heart. A smile played upon her lips as she thought about the various tall, beautiful women he had let down gently, simply because he was a stupid romantic.

She found herself saying, “He doesn't talk about his various pursuers often.”

The red-head laughed openly. “From the amount I've seen since he's visited this company, it's no wonder. He even opened a package and lingerie fell out once. He went red to the tips of his ears.”

The image was amusing. Marinette chortled at her imagination, joining in the red-head who she had decided had only genuine and friendly interests in her approach.

She didn't know why she said it.

“If you want to quell the vultures, you can tell them his girlfriend is Lady.”

Trying to hide the surprise from her own expression, wondering why the bubbling feeling of possessiveness had caused her to blurt such a strange piece of information that certainly wasn't true (yet), Marinette felt positively gleeful when she heard Caline audibly gasp, not questioning the information one bit. The mere fact that the red-head didn't have to ask who Lady was should have made her panic, should have wanted her to curl into a ball and rock underneath the table where no one could see her, but at that moment all she could feel was _glee_ that others would know he was unobtainable, even more so than before.

So when the red-head disappeared into the distance to tell her co-workers the titbit of information, she realised she had to inform Adrien, too—it was a good thing he wasn't there that day.

' _Marinette:  
__I thought you should know that Lady's agreed to be your... fake-girlfriend. It's completely my fault._ '

His reply was swift.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__...Do I want to know how you managed this, darling? I thought you were my dating experience, not that you were going to set me up with someone else._ '

She pursed her lips.

' _Marinette:  
__We haven't established if our last outing was a date yet. People keep badgering me if I'm your girlfriend, so I accidentally blurted that out._ '

There was an obvious plot hole in her explanation, and she shouldn't have expected him to gloss over the information.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Are you trying to tell me you're secretly in contact with Lady, and that's why you were doing that strange networking at Chloé's?_ '

“Not quite,” she murmured.

' _Marinette:  
__Yes; I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine. Enjoy your new girlfriend._ '

Her pulse quickened from his response.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Fake-girlfriend. I'm in the process of wooing someone currently._ '

She tried to keep her laughter in, attempting not to draw attention to herself.

' _Marinette:  
__Should I say con-cat-ulations?_ '

From the amount of smiling, her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
__Be paw-lite, love.'_

_PREVIEW: “Should I dress you in a catsuit?” she started, voice low and quiet so only he could hear._


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter. I wanted to finish my one-shot first, but it turned into a two-shot and oh, gosh. Let's not mention that monstrosity for a while. The comments here are fantastic. Thank you for each one.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“No, Adrien.”

“You can't really say no,” he replied, laughter clear in his tone. “I already know where you live.”

Marinette groaned softly, eyes flicking around the room. “That doesn't mean you're free to visit whenever you want.”

“I think it does, actually,” he said, “and a little helper gave me your address, so that's clearly an open invitation.”

She snorted. “They probably gave it to Nino—not you.”

“ _Open_ invitation,” he deadpanned.

“Are you really coming over _now_?” she asked, voice sounding slightly hysterical as she looked at the mess. There were a few hours of free time before Alya came back from working on a project with her class-mate, and Marinette had mentioned that in passing to the blond when they had conversed the previous day (not with the intention of inviting him round, however). “I could just leave you out there.”

Adrien laughed. “Then I'll convince someone else who lives here to let me inside—I think they'll realise I'm not a murderer.”

“My mother told me this is peer pressure.”

The poster of Nino had been taken down by the door, thankfully, but she still made sure to prowl through the apartment quickly and get rid of any evidence of Rose's infatuation. She promptly shut her flat-mate's doors, hoping that they stayed shut and didn't open by the breeze of the kitchen windows.

“Marinette?”

“Still here,” she confirmed, choosing to shut her door, too. Before he'd called, Marinette had been fiddling with new creations for the _Ladyblog_ and adding the finishing touches to various underwear of the same design upon her bed. There wasn't enough space within the drawers of her desk to store the lace and soft material inside safely, as she was waiting for Alya's ordered boxes to arrive before that evening.

As she threw the dirty bowl from Alya that morning into the sink, he said, “I can really not come if you want—I honestly just wanted to surprise you. There's even your favourite dessert in my hands.”

“...Are you bribing me, Mister Agreste?”

His laughter was sincere. “Am I that transparent?”

“I know you,” she muttered. “And I'm certain you really would persuade someone else to let you inside, so why delay the inevitable?”

“I'm glad you understand my power,” he replied, chortling along the way. “So, how does this place work?”

With a sigh, Marinette talked him through the motions as she busied herself cleaning up as much as she could. There were bottles of untouched alcohol upon the kitchen countertops, and she felt unsure whether to leave them out for him to see. The bedrooms were closed so he couldn't peer within them, but he would see the small living area, the uncomfortable couch and the tiny bathroom with a shower that was barely big enough for the tallest one that lived within the apartment. She knew he wouldn't look down upon her, but there was no denying that it was an opposite of what he was used to—much like their lives, really (until the internship, at least).

A mischievous smile curled across her lips when said he'd be there in a few minutes; the elevator was broken, so he was ascending the stairs slowly while prattling on about Plagg attempting to get into the shower with him that morning. She tried to tell herself her cheeks weren't warm from the thought of him wet and naked, but that would've been a lie.

“One moment,” she said, placing the cell phone onto her bed. Pulling her t-shirt off, Marinette searched through her wardrobe for the particular sweater that she'd brought back with her from her parents'. It was still soft, not as scratchy as she'd expected, and it didn't clash with the tight jeans she was wearing. “Back, sorry.”

He hummed. “Did you forget to put your socks on?”

“... _One_ moment,” she grumbled.

Adrien laughed. “So, any reason you chose to live on the fifth floor? Was it to torture me in the future?”

“Absolutely,” she replied dryly. “You need to work out more.” Rather, he needed to put on weight—his model figure meant that it was possible to see his ribs at times, she suspected, though she adamantly stayed away from searching picture of him online after the identity reveal.

“That's why I'm going to live through you,” he replied, laughing the insult off. “I'm going to watch you eat and cry internally.”

She made a noise of disapproval with her tongue. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Too long, wife,” the blond replied, and his smile was clear in his tone. “Do you want me to knock constantly, or are you going to let me in? I could also profess my love at the top of my lungs, if you wanted.”

“Shall I remind you that you have a girlfriend?” she asked rhetorically.

He laughed. “Knock, knock.”

Disconnecting the call, Marinette shook her head fondly. After checking her reflection in the mirror, noting the slightly flushed cheeks that were the side effect of how delightfully attractive he sounded through the cell phone. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, allowing a clear view of the ridiculous sweater he'd gifted her for Christmas.

So when she opened the door and met his smiling face, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to not burst into laughter when his viridian eyes widened in surprise and blatantly stared at the cat-decorated sweater.

After clearing her throat, Marinette stated, “Eyes up here.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, and a smirk made its presence known on her expression when she noticed his cheeks had coloured lightly.

“Nice sweater,” he murmured.

Just to see him squirm, she replied, “It's my favourite.”

And after his cheeks were a nice shade of pink, Marinette invited him inside and said that her room-mates were absent currently. He looked at the closed doors with a raised eyebrow, but didn't question them any further. Seeing Adrien sat contently on her lumpy couch was quite a strange sight to see; he was the image of friendliness with a golden halo of hair, while the apartment around him was quite dull, other than the small touches they'd tried to splash throughout to liven it up. His outfit was prim, untouched by dirt with creases that were supposed to be there, and he looked so thoroughly out of place with the neat, medium-sized box upon his lap.

“So, am I bribing you now or after?” he questioned.

“Do you want some coffee to go with it?” Marinette asked, gesturing to their tarnished kettle. “I think we have some flavoured teas, too, but they're not very good.”

His lips twitched from trying not to laugh. “I'll trust you, and have whatever you're having.”

“You're a brave one.” She laughed. “Do you want to pick two mugs while I serve this monstrosity that you've bought?”

Pointing him in the direction of the cupboard, Marinette curiously clutched the box hat was carefully put into her hands. Opening it upon the countertop, she rolled her eyes at the contents; there was cream smeared across the sides, and it was clear from the little amount left within the box that there had been more of the confectionery previously. She didn't complain, though, as the gesture was surely sweeter than the small amount of food within the container. Marinette placed them upon their two best dishes, suddenly self-conscious that some plates had chips upon them and their cutlery wasn't perfect, or shiny enough. With a firm shake of her head, she told herself she was being ridiculous—Adrien hadn't visited with the idea in his mind that she was made of wealth and was thoroughly upper-class.

“This is most definitely my choice,” Adrien announced, turning around to face her while resting his elbows upon the countertop. “Is this yours, by any chance?”

Despite trying not to show how incredulous she was that he'd managed to find it, Marinette puffed her cheeks out in a mocking gesture of annoyance. “Don't be ridiculous,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. In his hands was one of Rose's mugs; meaning, it had Nino's smiling face plastered across it, shining brightly, with a ludicrous caption that was her favourite quote from one of his films. “Mine has hearts all over it, too.”

His laugh was genuine. “I guess I just couldn't see it—so who's is this, then? I think he'll explode with embarrassment when I tell him later.”

“So, who is it that told you where I live?” Though the question had been nagging on her mind for a while, he stilled on the spot with an alarmed expression. Automatically, as if programmed into him, Adrien left the mugs on the side—including the other one that was for her, covered in ladybugs as Rose's silly joke—and self-consciously touched the nape of his neck. “By any chance... Adrien, did you know your cousin is sending dirty pictures to my best friend?”

“...Maybe?” he murmured, shrugging his shoulder as his hand fell. The expression on his face wasn't as happy any more, and she felt that, maybe, teasing him about the identity confusion wasn't as fun when the enjoyment drained from his eyes. “Marinette...”

She wetted her lips.

It was a good time, surely. They were alone, cramped within her tiny apartment with the kettle just having finished boiled, so that noise wasn't going to disturb their conversation. Rose was away, visiting the male from the hospital while complaining softly about her broken arm, and Alya was preoccupied at university, so the chances of her barging through the front door and shouting about the woes of her day were dwindling.

So, she could try and still her erratically beating heart, place her sweaty, nervous palms upon the appropriate mug that he'd picked out, and confess over the taste of their cheap, instant coffee.

“Do you want sugar in your coffee?” she interrupted, well aware of how breathy her voice came out. “It's rather bitter.”

Knitting his eyebrows together in an expression of confusion, Marinette smiled softly, and he returned the gesture, albeit it wary, with a small nod of his head.

“It was a bit of a surprise,” she started, staring into the mug while she swirled the contents, wondering whether the conversation would go to plan—either Adrien was going to laugh since she'd figured it out first, or apologise profusely so many times until she eventually hit his arm, or she'd simply have to deal with him being upset (but the latter didn't suit the kind-hearted male she'd come to know). “I think she genuinely likes him; they have jumped into things rather fast. Alya's already boasting about her seductive pictures at times.”

With a nod of his head, Marinete added a dash of milk to his Nino mug.

She bit her lip briefly in worry. At that moment in time, the blond before her clearly thought that she believed Chat to be Nino, still—therefore, the information that Nino was romantically interested in her friend should have upset her. She refused to look up into his eyes, to see if there was worry there, so she adamantly stayed staring anywhere but at his handsome features, just so she could get through her words.

“Did you know about them?” she murmured.

“I—” Adrien cut himself off to clear his throat, the noise the loudest thing between them since the kettle. “I've known about it, yes—he's been asking me about her. I couldn't say much, though.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Oh?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, resting his hip against the counter, though she still refused to look at him. “He thought I could wrangle some information from you, but it seemed unfair. I told him to find it out himself.”

Was he ever going to tell her about Nino and Alya? “I see,” Marinette found herself saying, the words sounding heavy on her lips. “Are his feelings... genuine about her?”

“Yes,” he repeated, voice softer than before.

“I'm glad.” Placing the teaspoon in the sink for later, Marinette slid his mug over to him, trying to restrain her laugh from his perplexed expression. “Do you want to talk about the fashion show for a bit? I can confess that I'm pretty nervous about it.”

He blinked. “We can do, sure.”

They didn't make a move to change locations. Marinette cupped her hands, feeling the warmth through her mug, and glanced at him sheepishly. “I've read the notes and everything, but is there any material that you're not fond of? I don't want to dress you in something that you're not keen on.”

“You're worrying too much,” Adrien replied, attempting to take a sip of his drink. “The only thing I have an aversion to is latex, actually. There's been a few designers trying to dress me in it since I've turned over eighteen, and it's honestly not very appealing.”

“Oh.” Marinette tried to stifle her laughter at his sheepish expression; he looked as though she was going to say that was what she'd settled on. “Well, I won't add anything like that, then. There's no reason to be nervous about that.”

Adrien spluttered for a moment, choking upon the liquid before he calmed down with a heated face. “If there's anything I'm nervous about, then it's most likely when you're taking my measurements.”

Despite his words, her face warmed unintentionally from the insinuation. “It'll be professional.”

“I'm sure,” he answered, tilting his head slightly in an innocent gesture. “Can you avoid taking my shirt off slowly, though? I'm pretty sure Nino would tease me endlessly if it was anything but instantaneous.” His words were teasing with a matching expression, and she found herself laughing under her breath, despite how thoroughly embarrassed she would be in that situation.

“Who said I'd be taking your clothes off?”

He blinked. “Are you asking for a strip tease?”

Laughter spilled from her lips. Marinette covered her warm face with her hands, body shaking with chortles with his words, and tried to smother the noise before it became slightly maniacal from her imagination. Gosh, he— _he_ was just ridiculous! It had been clear that the blond was concerned for their previous topic, and now that they'd moved on he was lightening the mood, as much as he could without bursting into a confession that there was a large misunderstanding between them.

“You're—” Marinette choked out, furiously swiping at her damp eyes with a wide grin. “Were you ever not a dork?”

“Were you ever not beautiful?” he retorted, curls curled into a mischievous smile.

She stilled, only stunned for a moment before narrowing her eyes at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I had to try.” He laughed. “Do you—” The words he had been about to say were cut off by an upbeat song, one that she wouldn't have associated with him since the words were in another language, and his expression instantly changed into one of wariness, and obvious displeasure. “Sorry, one moment.”

And after hushed comments, Adrien finished a quick conversation quickly in another tongue before apologising profusely, saying that he was needed somewhere for work and that he couldn't get out of it, unfortunately.

“I'll see you Friday,” he said by the door, smiling brightly despite how short their time had been. “Just remember no latex, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “We'll see.”

“I'm trusting you here.”

“I'm sure that'll turn out well,” the dark-haired female responded, lips twitching in an attempt not to laugh. “Thank you for coming, even if it was unexpected.”

“I hope I can find the time to come again soon,” he confessed, a hand gently touching the nape of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. “Unless you don't want me to, that is.”

Her lips curled into a genuine smile, and her cheeks warmed at his words. “I'd like that,” she said softly.

The parting movement wasn't one that she was too familiar with, so when Adrien grasped her hand lightly with his—and she noted how soft his skin was, even though it felt a tad cold—and placed his his lips upon her knuckles briefly and smiled widely when he withdrew to meet her eyes, her teeth were firmly biting into her lower lip. “The sweater suits you,” he had uttered before disappearing, and she was sure her face wasn't going to cool down any time soon. She sipped the rest of her coffee, tasted the forgotten treat that he had bought, while saving the other piece for Alya when she returned, because she was sure to ask about the two mugs since they'd ran out of soap, and generally tried to go over their conversation to see whether she had been obvious enough with her hints; but, clearly not, as he hadn't been surprised (he seemed quite... upset at one point, instead).

So when Alya came in, visibly distressed from her day at university, she blurted out the events of her day instantly. It was refreshing to see how bewildered her red-headed friend looked, and especially when she started eating the food he'd bought for her while mumbling under her breath at just how _good_ it was.

Adrien had messaged to say that he was out of the country until their meeting at the company, so they couldn't message each other a lot during that time. He sent a silly photograph before her class the next day, and she'd chortled aloud and earned strange looks because of it (which was fine, because it was Plagg attempting to sleep upon his face).

After the day of class, Marinette picked up their mail and was surprised to see quite a lot addressed to her—there were over ten different envelopes, all different kinds and stamps, too. Alya was busy chopping different ingredients, as they were expecting Alix with her freshly-dyed pink hair over for dinner, so she opened the mail upon their lumpy couch with knitted eyebrows.

“Postcard from Rose,” she announced loudly, rolling her eyes at the stereotypical picture upon the front. The words written upon the back were large, in a messy scrawl that was usually associated with the blonde being overly excited. “She says her cell phone broke, so she's resorting to this for a while—parents' computer is broken, too. What a lucky girl.”

“That sucks,” Alya remarked.

Opening the next envelope, Marinette shook her head fondly. “Your mom sent you some new recipes from her restaurant.” It was surely where the red-head had inherited her love to cook from, and her mother definitely supported her hobby, even if she wasn't going to pursue it as a career. “And guess who got arrested for stealing panties earlier this week?”

Alya sighed, already knowing. “My sister again, right?”

“I wonder where we went wrong raising her.”

She made a noise of disapproval. “Probably the fact that we weren't very loving to her—and that I'm clearly mom's favourite. No wonder with the shit that she's pulling lately.”

“I hope it's a phase,” Marinette replied, holding her tongue from responding that the red-head's temper had been awful when they'd been young teenagers. “I've got thirteen letters addressed to me here. You didn't give my name to any of the sponsors, did you? Because this is a _lot_ , and it's just my name upon here.”

At Alya's shake of her head, Marinette narrowed her eyes down at the pile. She opened the first letter, the plainest and least inviting looking as the stamp wasn't colourful and there was nothing special about the personal writing, and immediately regretted it. There was no letter inside, no paper to be read, and instead the envelope was filled to the brim with glitter and she'd managed to jostle and cause a portion to fall upon her fuzzy sweater, couch and the floor.

“What the fuck...” Marinette trailed off, visibly confused by the contents. There was no return address, no indication that it was from anyone familiar with her at all if it wasn't for her name and address upon the front. “Okay.”

It didn't get much better from there. The rest didn't contain glitter, thankfully, but the letters were full of spiteful, hurtful and absolutely inappropriate comments about her. There were different pictures of her, and none of them were untouched. They were scribbled upon, crossed out, and some edges were even burned with obvious intent shown from the crisp corners. The images of her as a child were the least popular, but the ones that were taken from the fair—that she'd purposefully avoided seeing upon the Internet—were the ones that were most frequently scribbled out, especially with derogatory words written beside them.

Marinette ripped them up promptly, not allowing her friend to see the obvious distress upon her expression from the implied hate messages; perhaps the fact that it was within her hands, rather than upon the screen of a cell phone or computer made it worse. The message was clear, though. Her address had been leaked.

-x-

When Adrien had said that they'd see each other on Friday, he forgot to mention that they wouldn't actually be within the same room. Penny had briefed the interns, including Simon who was working on a mannequin instead of a model for the final product, and they'd disappeared to help different staff members for their day. Marinette had been walking to her assigned office, and almost slipped when she walked past a meeting room which had a door open. She didn't stay long enough to listen in to the conversation, just peeked in, caught a blond mop of hair and looked momentarily startled when her smiled brightly before returning his attention back to the others within the room.

At lunch, Théo was the one that broached the subject. “So, will it be awkward if I ask about you and Agreste?”

Manon laughed loudly, causing her curls to bounce and others around the cafeteria glance at them warily. “That's top secret information, but nice try, man.”

“Why bother asking?” Vincent interrupted, his face twisted into a mocking. He jabbed his food with more enthusiasm than needed. “It's rigged anyway.”

“Rigged?” the dark-haired female interjected, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why would it be?”

He made a noise of disagreement. “Isn't it obvious? You're here because of your connections.”

“No,” she denied, suddenly losing her appetite. “I'm not. They didn't know which university I was attending, so that's utterly ridiculous.”

It was Théo who asked the next question, and she couldn't stop the pang of hurt that accompanied his words. “Are you friends with Agreste's father, too?”

“No,” Marinette repeated, her stomach feeling uncomfortable. “I've never met him.”

“Back off,” Manon interrupted, glaring openly at the hostile blond. “If you had a problem, you could've brought it up weeks ago—not now. You're just being jerks.”

Théo blinked, then held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I was just asking. It's not like I'm accusing her of being smuggled into the competition or something else.”

“Look,” Marinette started, packing up her belongings to disappear. “If you have a problem with me, personally, I'll understand. If it's because of who's associated with me—only recently—then you have a stick up your ass and really need to re-think your decision of being deluded. I'm here fairly, and _you_ won in Xavier's section, Vincent, so I really don't see what's wrong here!” Her breathing had picked up, and to her utter mortification she felt the back of her eyes warm up from the spikes of anger coursing through her. Marinette blinked rapidly, scowled at the openly miffed faces and disappeared for the remaining time—she was assigned way from the others anyway.

The day dragged on. By the time she was stretching after it was the designated time to be dismissed, she was wondering whether to pick up food on the way home instead of bothering her room-mate to cook. It seemed tedious with only the two of them, especially when Alya was constantly busy with her university work until the late hours of the evening—if it wasn't for the sponsors and the occasional Lady images that were taken, she would've told her to stop that, too.

Alya agreed for her to pick up dinner. The dark-haired female made a detour to the first brightly-coloured restaurant she could see and slipped inside, impressed by the quaint décor within. After ordering the different dishes she thought would be appreciated, Marinette slipped into a seat and waited while tapping her fingertips upon her bare knees.

There were comforting words from Théo and Manon upon her cell phone. She shook her head and decided to reply at a later date, when she could think clearly about how she'd overreacted at the blond's jab.

When she was interrupted, it wasn't by her order being delivered.

“Marinette?”

Bewildered, she looked up. The bright, kind sienna eyes that met hers were ones that she'd seen countless times over the years.

She gulped. “Nino.”

“What are you doing here?” His spectacles were gone, and his hair was straight and slicked back in a fashion that didn't belong with the casual clothes he was wearing; if anything, it looked as though he had just left filming of some sort after the make-up had been taken of. “That's a stupid question. You're here for dinner.”

Her head bobbed in a nodding motion. “Picking up dinner with Alya and I. What about you?”

“ _Al_ —I-I, who?” It was almost comical how his lips were twitching, attempting to curl into a happy smile from the mere mention of her, while he was trying to portray indifference and pretend not to know who, exactly, she was. Marinette wondered how she was misread the signs, how she had shoved her feelings for Chat—no, Adrien—onto him without seeing the situation from another perspective. This man in front of her, who was touching his neck in a self-conscious gesture that his cousin shared, was a professional actor but his skills were quivering right in front of her. “I'm, well, I'm getting dinner. Yes.”

She could have teased him, but he didn't do anything wrong to deserve her well deserved wrath. This male was innocent, and simply smitten with her ridiculous best friend. “She's the girl that moved into your house when you left. Red-head. Very attractive, if I must say.”

“That's a rather forward description,” he said in a lightly high-pitched voice than usual. “Do you introduce her like that to everyone?”

Marinette raised her eyebrows, exhaling from her nose loudly when he averted eye contact. “Only to those she sends saucy pictures to.”

His reaction could only be described as a sentence filled with curse words in a breathy tone before he leaned forward and slapped a hand dramatically over her mouth. “You know,” he whispered loudly.

Blinking, Marinette shot him an unimpressed look and pointedly gestured with her eyes to this restricting hand. When he released her with a sheepish expression, she huffed, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of her face. “Honestly, did you think otherwise? Alya's mistakenly messaged me instead of you a couple of times, too.”

“That's not reassuring at all!”

“Oh, _you_ ,” Marinette commented, voice shaking in disbelief. “You're embarrassed! Your cheeks are almost glowing!”

And they really were. The blush was there delicately upon his tanned skin, a dusting across his cheekbones as he attempted to frown at her. “Hush,” he chastised, expression absolutely embarrassed, backed up from his stance and it looked completely out of place with the coiffed hair. “Alya never told me that you knew!”

“Oh, no...” Marinette trailed off, biting her lower lip while raising her eyebrows. “I guess she doesn't tell you everything, then.”

Nino narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. “I know you're both in cahoots with Lady.”

The words were ridiculous, and she couldn't help the guffaws that escaped. Laughing in his face certainly didn't help how strange the situation was, and it seemed to embarrass him further. The dark-haired male had crossed his arms and began to frown openly at her response. Just how much had Alya told him, though? Marinette had asked him a few questions for research purposes, but none more than that—he, surely, didn't know that his almost-girlfriend was the one that ran the blog, or who was featured within the pictures (if he did, then he would've been slightly awkward that he'd had mixed feelings for his childhood friend briefly).

“Oh?” she replied, eyes widening in mocking surprise. “Are we?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “From what I can gather, I'm assuming she goes to your university. I think you're probably good friends, and that's why you asked Adrien and I those questions before.”

“...Or you're reading too much into this,” Marinette supplied, shrugging her shoulders lightly. “Are you playing a detective in your next film? You're taking the character a bit too seriously.”

“ _Man_ , you haven't changed,” Nino announced, running a hand through his hair and ruining the style. “I thought it would be like talking to a whole new person at times, but it's not? I'm honestly baffled by how familiar you seem to me.”

The reminder of their shared childhood sent a pang of hurt through her. He had expected for their conversations to be distant, foreign, and although she couldn't blame him it was hard to hear nonetheless. “People change,” she pointed out, mood suddenly sombre. “I'm not the same as I was almost a decade ago.”

“Honestly, it's like you've evolved into a mega-version of yourself,” the dark-haired male supplied, hands burrowing themselves into his pockets. “I can match the you I knew to the one that Alya's told me about very easily—I don't know whether that's weird for you to hear. Your teasing is still there, and before Adrien would be right beside you ribbing into me. It was like the tag-team of my worst nightmare.”

They were interrupted by her order being filled. Marinette smiled apologetically and collected the rustling bag, and waved in farewell. As she'd gotten to the door, hand upon the handle, a split decision was made.

“Do you want to have dinner with us?” Marinette blurted loudly, holding the bag in the air.

Nino blinked, visibly surprised by the offer. “I'm not alone.”

Moving closer so others couldn't overhear their conversation from across the room, she replied, “They can come, too. If you want to, that is.”

He cleared his throat. “You're not teasing me again, are you?”

“...No?” It came out as a question. “No,” Marinette clarified, voice sounded more certain.

It was to be expected that he was with Adrien. As they waited for Nino's selected food to be delivered, Marinette had cradled her bag and savoured the warmth while wondering whether her idea was actually a good one. She knew that her best friend and Nino had yet to solidify their relationship, and that they had met each other in passing without purposefully meeting together with the intention for private conversations (they had been public settings, with others around while Alya had been pushing her to converse with him, rather than for herself to do it). So, when Nino enquired whether they should have their chauffeur follow after her car, she had to explain that she'd planned on travelling by bus to make her way home, which meant he promptly invited her to ride with them for the journey.

When they reached the correct curb, she realised it was the same car that she'd ridden in for the fair with Adrien.

Marinette gulped, cradling her bag uncertainly while Nino brushed past her with a grin and motioned for her to hide behind him.

He opened the door and announced, “Adrien! I ended up picking us some dates for tonight as well—hope you don't mind.” And after that eloquent explanation for her appearance, the dark-haired male stood to the side and gestured with his hand for her to enter first, to sit in the middle.

Whereas Nino's hair had been straightened and slicked back, Adrien's had been curled, even more so than the subtle flicks that were usually present for his hair, and was styled messily upon his head. The organised disarray for golden hair that was normally there was gone, and it seemed as though whoever had styled him had attempted to replicate his cousin's hair despite the length difference. The blond was clad in casual clothes, a baggy jacket wrapped around him as his hand was wrapped tightly around his cell phone.

She was sure her expression was just as surprised as his.

“...Hi.”

Adrien cleared his throat, eyes darting between her and his cousin. “Hello.”

“Yes, hi,” Nino interrupted, closing the door louder than needed. “Our pity party dinner has been cancelled, so sorry to tell you that news. The good news, however, is that Marinette's happy to have us over for the evening.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows at him. “...Really.”

“Yes,” she replied shifting in her seat, “although I didn't know that he was with you.” That wasn't helping her case, she realised belatedly—he still thought that she didn't know about the lie (therefore, she'd asked Nino for a private setting, for dinner, despite the denial e-mails). When she was sure that the dark-haired male wasn't in hearing distance, as he'd moved forward to converse with the chauffeur on where to go, she murmured, “It's a surprise for Alya.”

“Were you planning to have a three-way date, or to retreat into your room for the evening?” he questioned quietly, mulling over the information. “I suppose you could hide me inside your room, too, so they could be alone.”

She rolled her eyes. “This proves that you got my address from Nino, though. I haven't told him where to go yet.”

“I didn't want to reveal his secrets myself,” he said innocently.

Nino settled in beside them, continuously flashing the blond a smile filled with smug satisfaction that had her stifling laughter more than once, especially since Adrien looked unamused throughout. Despite their coiffed hair (though Nino's was mused, while the blond's was untouched), the clothing their were clad in was the most... normal, casual, looking they had ever been seen in together. Even during their broadcasts together, they had designer brands of sorts on, and she didn't recognise any that they were wearing at that moment.

“Alya doesn't know about this,” Marinette explained as they emptied from the car, cradling her bag of almost cooled food in her arms, “so, maybe... I should go in first to give you the heads up.”

Nino blinked. “You make it sound like she has something to hide.”

Not the secret blog that ran from her apartment, surely. “Maybe the fact that she walks around in a towel for too long after a shower?” Marinette shot back, leading the way within the building. “And, please, don't wander around on the fourth-floor. There's an obsessive fan of both of you living there. I can't guarantee your safety.”

The blond guffawed, the smile reaching his eyes and showing his slight dimples. “Very ominous,” he commented, snatching the bag from her hands to carry despite her protests. “Are you leaving us outside for minutes on end, or are you smuggling us inside to hide for a while?”

“I...” Marinette sighed, fishing the keys from her bag. “Just wait inside after I've gone in, okay? If she sees one of you two first, I'm pretty sure I'll be maimed in some way.”

“Hey,” Nino said, holding his a hand up in a gesture of surrender. “This was your idea. I'm not taking the blame for this.” And despite the fact that her heart was hammering nervously in her chest, the sheer excitement reflected in Nino's expression spurred on her ridiculous decision.

She nodded. “Prop the door open and come in after one minute, okay? I need to make sure everything's decent before you scare Alya.”

Adrien shot her a reassuring smile and placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder. “Make it two minutes. I'll make sure he doesn't go charging inside.”

Her cheeks warmed and her returning smile was mortifying and shy. “See you soon.”

As soon as the door was open, the keys within her bag again, she looked around warily to see what destruction had happened in the few hours that she'd left her room-mate alone. The only indication that she was actually home was the soft beat of music trailing out of Alya's propped open bedroom door. Marinette cursed under her breath when she looked inside, already recognising—Alya wrapped in a towel, dozing happily upon her bed with her quiet playlist that she usually played when she'd had a bad day.

Although she'd be surely flustered, it was clear that Nino would cheer her up.

Marinette snapped her fingers beside her friend's ear multiple times. She awoke with a start, flailing madly before clutching the towel to her chest with a panicked expression. When her eyes met the dark-haired female's bemused expression, she grinned sheepishly right back and said, “Oops.”

“I agree,” she replied, deciding not to blurt out the surprise. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. I'll dish up the food.”

There were no questions. Alya happily agreed, clearly enticed by the promise of food and on the way out, Marinette made sure to safely close the door so their visitors wouldn't receive an unintended show. They trailed through the doorway at a perfect time, and she put her finger to her lips in a universal gesture to be silent, and the both nodded with bemused smiles. She took the bags upon the countertop, directing them to sit upon the stools.

Adrien didn't look quite as out of place as before, but his curly hair certainly wasn't helping him to blend in. Nino was smiling widely, eyes trained upon the doorway with obvious intent and it was so just endearing that she snorted quietly while shaking her head.

“You fine to serve yourselves?” she asked, passing out not-so-shiny plates and cutlery. “I don't know what everyone likes.”

“Sure,” Adrien replied when it became clear that Nino was too wrapped up with his thoughts. “I could help, if you want.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “It's okay.”

When she'd settled all the food out on the countertop for easy access, with the dark-haired male still staring adamantly at the door while tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor, and her and the blond exchanging looks of amusement from his obvious nervous—it didn't seem right to tease him, though.

There was a flurry of reactions when Alya burst through the doorway, complaining to the best of her ability. “Your fucking boss is trying to _bribe_ me!” she ground out, audibly frustrated. “This measly amount for Lady's identity? You're worth so much _more_.”

After the outburst, she looked up from her cell phone to see the occupied seats, the visibly surprised faces and food scattered across the countertop.

“Well, fuck,” she continued, eyes darting between the unexpected audience members.

“...Hi?” Nino blurted.

Marinette was openly rubbing her forehead in frustration, unsure how to worm herself out of that hole. At least it was out there, now, and it saved her the awkward confession—it just so happened that Nino knew now, too. “Rose is going to kill you,” she pointed out, shaking her head.

Alya was staring at Nino with wide eyes instead. Perhaps she should've told her to wear casual clothing instead of loose pyjama pants and a t-shirt.

She was hovering, standing awkwardly in between the two of them, who were exchanging goofy smiles that looked blinding and painful at the same time. Marinette shuffled to the side, deciding to retrieve food when they'd gotten over the surprise of seeing each other in a private setting, and perched herself upon the lumpy couch for the time being. Adrien had much the same idea, and sat down beside her and propped his chin upon his open palm.

“So,” he began, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

She wiped her suddenly clammy hands upon her shorts. “So.”

He hummed, a noise of amusement. “You're my fake-girlfriend. Does this still count as cheating?”

“You're not surprised?” she blurted, unsure about his composed expression.

“It...” Adrien trailed off, running the hand he'd been resting on through his curly hair. “I had my suspicions, but this pretty much confirmed it. I thought the whole fake-girlfriend ordeal was too good, and convenient, to be coincidental.” He was absolutely right, though. It should have been obvious that he wasn't a fool, and the fact that she was acting as a messenger between the two of them. “I didn't want to ask about it in case I was wrong.”

There was no way that she was wrong about him, though. “That can't be the only reason you didn't confront me.”

“I didn't want to hurt you,” he said softly.

She wetted her lips. “I don't see how it would.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Marinette fiddled with her fingers as he took his time to answer. The passing moments caused her heart to beat erratically, wondering where their conversation was going to lead them. “I didn't want to push my expectations onto one person,” Adrien murmured, shifting closer so their thigh were touching lightly (hers half bare, his clad in fabric), “because if there's even a possibility of being wrong, perhaps my belief was misguided and may have hurt you in the reveal.”

Her pulse sounded far too loud. Marinette searched his expression, taking in the soft features and warmth radiating from him, and took in a laboured breath as her eyebrows knitted together. He— _he_ was always looking out for her, and the uttered words did nothing to still her nerves, nor the pleasant feeling bubbling within her chest, ready to burst.

“You're...” Marinette gulped, cheeks flaming from how unsteady her voice was. “Should I dress you in a catsuit?” she started, voice low and quiet so only he could hear. Nervously, she ran a hand through her hair and gripped at the strands for a distraction. “Would that make it clear to you?”

“I—” Adrien murmured, cutting himself off to clear his throat uncertainly. “You're not surprised?” he asked, repeating her previous words.

They were touching from the distance between them. His smile was unsure, hopeful, showing his soft dimples, and the flush that had appeared upon his cheeks was everything she wanted to see and more. There was nothing threatening about the male before her; forgetting his status, the distance between their every day lives, simply being beside him and feeling the warmth of his body was more than enough. Still, she wanted _more_.

She licked her lips, face burning from his bright eyes following the movement.

“I've been trying to tell you,” Marinette whispered quietly, fidgeting. “I... I thought you'd realise, especially after the sweater.”

There was no anger, no heated words of irritation or negative reactions. Adrien let out a laugh of disbelief, eyes shut with eyebrows furrowed as his body shook, and she found herself doing much the same (though hers was slightly maniacal). Marinette clutched at her stomach, unsure whether the warmth of her face was from the blushing, laughter or whether she'd began to sob during the guffaws from the absurdity of the situation. Her chuckles dwindled as his head fell onto her shoulder, and she was able to feel his smile through the material of her clothing.

They had both been holding back.

When he pulled his head back, his grin showed the white of his teeth. “Perhaps I was simply blocking it out. I've—I was okay to wait it out, and attempt to sway you towards me in person. From our last e-mails I thought that was what was happening, but it seems I misunderstood. You _knew_ when you sent those messages, right?”

Her lower lip was swollen from the amount of nervous biting she had done. “Yes,” Marinette whispered, aware that her voice was shaking. “I... I figured it out before you took me to the fair.”

“That makes sense,” he replied softly, and she could feel his breath upon her skin from their proximity. Was he remembering how nervous she had been that evening, especially before the cameras had began to flicker? “Are you mad at me, Marinette?”

She shook her head slowly, attempting not to hit his cheeks with strands of hair. “No,” was her mumbled response, and as the heat rose to her face she averted her eyes to adamantly stare at the couch. “If anything, you should be mad at me for jumping to conclusions.”

“Why would I be?” Adrien replied, tresses of golden hair brushing against her face from him tilting his head to the side quizzically. “It's true that I was confused at first, and, honestly, I felt so guilty then that I just wanted to tell you in person,” he confessed, his gentle fingertips brushing against her hand and trailing across her skin to tentatively wrap his hand within hers.

She gulped.

“That would've resulted in hurting you, and that's exactly what I wanted to avoid.”

After a hesitant squeeze to his hand, the dark-haired female mustered the courage to utter, “You're far too charming for your own good.”

The shoulder was leaning against shook with his suppressed chuckles. “I prefer to think of myself as a paw-sitive person.”

He—he was such a _fool_. Marinette snorted unintentionally, giggles causing her body to shake as she covered her mouth with her hands and glared at him half-heartedly through blurry eyes. It was relieving, a feeling she thought wouldn't be accompanied by the awaited moment, and yet they were seated closely upon a lumpy couch in the safety of her home without words being held back any longer. The laughs continued to spill out, and the blond soon joined in one he realised that it was built up laughter that just needed to _escape_. They must have looked ridiculous, guffawing away without a care of their flushed faces, yet there was no interrupted from the other occupants of the room.

Wiping the moisture that had built up within her eyes, Marinette shook her head fondly. “I don't know what to do with you.”

“Then don't think about it,” he advised, “because I'm not planning to leave any time soon.”

Her lips wobbled. “You're only here for dinner.”

“We'll work on that,” Adrien replied, grinning playfully.

Their eyes locked, and before she knew it she had blurted, “Were you angry? When I didn't know it was you?”

There was a flash of emotion across his expression before it was smothered, and the kind smile she knew well was back, along with the imprints of his dimples upon his cheeks. “Disappointed would be the better word,” he corrected, the smile not reaching his eyes. The announcement tugged upon her heartstrings, a pang of regret bursting through her. “You were my best friend, Marinette, but we fell out of touch. I don't know why, truly—I thought you'd shoved me aside for others after a while, so I never sought you out, but you came to _me_.”

The laugh that came from his lips was not filled with joy; rather, it was a rueful noise that was out of place. Adrien ran his hand roughly through his hair, disrupting the curls.

“Why didn't you reply to my letters? I wrote to you for _years_ , and I never heard anything. No words from your parents saying you weren't interested, and not even my letters being sent back.” His voice was lower, and she was unsure how to comfort him. Squeezing his hand in a gesture that was supposed to convey her confusion, the loss of information not helping her comprehend his words correctly. “I hoped that one day you would recognise me, but not like... this.”

“Adrien,” she said uncertainly.

Furrowing his brow, Adrien shook his head adamantly cutting her words off. After glancing at the other side of the room, to see the two conversing happily along with the clinking of cutlery as they ate their dinner, the blond stood to his feet and tugged her up gently. The intention was clear—they soon disappeared down the hallway without catching the attention of the engrossed duo. She directed him to her bedroom while gnawing harshly upon her lower lip, wondering just _how_ to rectify the situation without causing unnecessary drama between them.

If seeing him within the kitchen was odd, looking at Adrien perched upon her bed was even worse. The room was clean, thankfully, with no half-finished lingerie upon the furniture. The silence grew between them as their eyes were looking everywhere but at each other. Marinette stretched her fingers, sitting upon the desk chair and turning to face him with a wary expression.

“I never received any letters,” she started, taking in an unsteady breath. With fumbling hands, she retrieved the specific item she wanted from her bag, opening the wallet with shaking hands. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up from feeling his inquisitive gaze upon her as she pulled the plastic-covered note out from within. “This was the last thing I had from you, and it was very confusing when I was released from hospital.”

He accepted the offered note with furrowed eyebrows.

Marinette played with her fingertips, peeking underneath her eyelashes to see recognition flicker across his expression. “When I was home-schooled for a year, I tried my best to find out about you, really. My parents never knew about you, I think. They only mentioned Nino, mostly because of his family. I was told that I'd meet him behind a tree and play out of sight most of the time.”

She wetted her lips.

“I... I never planned to contact him—Nino,” she corrected, knitting her clammy fingers together. “My best friend, Rose, has been a fan of his for many years, so I was happy just seeing that he was doing okay. Even if he was a link to my lost time, I didn't want to force myself upon him.”

“Why did you, then?” he questioned, voice hesitant. “What changed?”

The smile that tugged upon her lips wasn't joyful. “I was watching an interview—I e-mailed your shared agent on the day it was broadcast. Nino mentioned me in it, and I realised that he didn't forget me after all this time. Just to make sure, I quoted the note,” Marinette explained softly, gesturing to his occupied hands, “to make sure he knew after the years.”

“But it went to me instead.”

“Yes,” she said, furrowing her eyebrows. “Why is that?”

Adrien licked his lips, drawing out the time to answer. The note was still clutched within his hands, though he was careful not to bend the plastic covering. “We were together at the time, Nino and I—so when he mentioned a junk e-mail from Mari, I asked him for more information. I admit that I should've used my full name at the time, but most of my e-mails stay obscure so if they're hacked, it's not clear that it's me.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed, nodding her head.

“I'm sorry.”

Blinking, she replied, “Me, too.”

“Are you disappointed?” Adrien asked softly.

Maybe she should have been. She could have been angered, attempted to punch him with flailing limbs while wondering how he could string her along so—but that was so out of place. He hadn't intended to hurt her, and she hadn't wanted to damage him. They were simply caught in a web of misunderstandings that was falling apart by the seams (and good riddance, she believed).

“Not after I thought it through,” she confessed. “As you said earlier, I shoved my expectations onto one person naïvely. And for that, I am really sorry.”

His smile was half-hearted, accompanied by exhaling from his nose. “It's as much my fault as it is yours.”

“I—” Marinette cut herself off, aware that her cheeks were beginning to flame from the confession upon her tongue. “I couldn't always connect the feelings for chat to Nino—it was hard to merge them into one person. And now I know I was simply blinded by my beliefs.”

“Oh?” Adrien hummed, and she was sure his lips had curled into a semi-confident smirk. “So, there's still a chance for me?”

A bubble of laughter escaped and she shook her head fondly. “I'm already your wife and fake-girlfriend. What more do you want from me, Adrien?”

“A date,” he retorted, not missing a beat. “I'd like for you to go on a date with me, for real—knowing who I am, and without misunderstandings.”

“You're not going to question the Lady thing?” she found herself asking.

The blond shook his head, a fond smile reaching his viridian eyes. “No,” he confirmed, “I assume you'll tell me when you're ready. Though, I do know you'll be contacted about your alter ego soon with a tempting business offer.”

“If this is all the information I'm receiving from you, I'm going to be thoroughly annoyed,” Marinette replied, tugging her lips into a forceful frown. “Does it have anything to do with what Alya blurted out earlier?”

“No,” Adrien denied, shaking his head. “I was going to tell you anyway—when I only had the suspicion about your other self—but I've been signed to voice act in an upcoming television series. Nino's rather jealous about it, actually, as he's always wanted to try and delve into that line of business.” That titbit of information was a surprise, as even Rose hadn't known such things (she'd always though that Nino preferred his career as it was). “The opening scene is going to be a mix of animated and not, so the creator wants Lady to be in it; meaning, you.”

She blinked. “I'm sorry, what?”

“He wants you to be in it,” he repeated.

“...Why?”

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien shot her an unimpressed look. “We've spoken about this before. You must realise by now that your blog has attracted a lot of attention. And this conversation is spiralling out of control—so, will you?”

“Will I?” Marinette parroted.

“Go on a date with me,” the blond clarified, smile lighting up his expression.

Dumbly, Marinette nodded her head when she found that her mouth had grown dry. His grin grew at her response, and her heart beat loudly within her chest as she thought about the result of their evening. Really, she had planned to spring a surprise upon her room-mate, and had instead ended up in the small space of her bedroom with her childhood friend who had a smile that was far too blinding for his own good. It seemed that no matter the predicament, he knew what to say to sway it in his favour, and she wasn't remotely mad about such a quality; rather, it was a nice change of pace from the predicted sobbing or anger.

They prattled about light topics to fill the space and allow her cheeks to cool. Even though they were not touching any more from their distance, Marinette found herself averting her eyes from embarrassment sporadically when a particular thought of just _what_ they had talked about before crossed her mind. And yet, Adrien was the perfect gentlemen before her—they were alone within her room, and he wasn't questioning their relationship, what they were going to do from there onwards, or the décor (hopefully, he hadn't noticed the image of him that was upon her wall, still).

So when there was a knock upon her door, they both jumped guiltily despite the fact they were in a completely innocent position. It was Nino, explaining that they were needed elsewhere immediately, and from the goofy smile that was plastered across his lips she had to assume that her best friend was bound to be bursting with happiness when they were gone.

Much like their last private farewell, Adrien pressed his lips lightly against her knuckles, and she rolled her eyes at the action that time. He simply grinned, and bid her farewell until next week—hinting that the models wouldn't be at the company for the weekend.

-x-

Alya had retaliated for the surprise with numerous Lady pictures. Although it was to be expected, she still flinched when seeing the views and reactions from the blog. The red-head had mentioned opening a donation page, and the thought alone of anyone donating to see _her_ was absolutely absurd—but, then again, she had found a file of her pictures at the company, and even Nino and Adrien knew of the blog without being shown it by either of the creators first. It was rather strange to see how it had spiralled out of control, simply from a night where her two room-mates had been bored one evening.

But just like with her alter ego, there were other things that were becoming a catastrophe. Adrien had sent a regretful message the morning after their dinner together, long before she'd awoken to the early beams of sunlight, and stated that he was out of the country for a few days for business. He did, however, say she could contact him via e-mail, though the thought of reading the messages from his alias caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably at thought. He had said that he preferred to be as conspicuous as possible after being hacked, so, perhaps, Nino had an equally ridiculous name, too. She ran her hands harshly through her hair whenever she attempted to stare at a blank e-mail, unsure of how to strike up a conversation. He hadn't messaged first, so it was up to her if they were going to converse within their time apart—and being apart just caused more questions to spiral within her head.

Just... why her? As self-deprecating and insecure as it sounded, Adrien had remembered her fondly after the years passed, and those feelings had only increased into some sort of infatuation (they hadn't exactly clarified what was happening between them, after all). He often joked about their childhood marriage—but was there something more to it? How many innocent kisses had they exchanged, and did she utter childish promises of commitment that he still remembered?

“Why, yes,” Marinette murmured, closing her eyes. “We'll clearly marry and have hamsters as children. That's probably what was in our vows, knowing me.” And cats, probably. Perhaps they'd promised to adopt Tikki and Plagg as their children instead. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

The small rift that had been caused between the interns had been mended as soon as it had started. Théo had adamantly pushed the blond-haired male in front of her, and stared at him with narrowed eyes until Vincent coughed out a reply with an uncomfortable flush upon his cheeks. Manon even pinched his arm in a clear warning, and tapped her fingers beneath her eyes before pointing at him in, what was supposed to be, a threatening gesture. Their conversations were light, happy, and Simon even began to choke from laughter at one of their lunches (a surprise, for the timid male). Vincent had kept his sharp comments to himself after that, and Marinette began to see him as the awkward male he really was once her anger had evaporated—it wasn't his fault he was the first to accuse her of worming her way into the company since the interview.

At least, in person.

The hateful messages continued to clog their mailbox. Alya hadn't caught onto her predicament, but it would soon be hard to ignore the excessive amounts of paper within their bin as time went on. It seemed that even she visited to pick up their mail, the envelopes addressed to her would multiply, and she'd clutch them to her chest in horror before piling them upon her bed. If there was no company logo, stamp, or any kind of identification upon the envelope, she'd shove them aside and open if she was feeling masochistic (which wasn't often, thankfully).

When she scanned through social media, she was reluctant to type her own name to see what would happen. Her accounts had countless messages, and a good eighty-percent were not of a pleasant kind, and it seemed that even her most obscure names had been discovered.

Would someone hack her, too?

“No,” Marinette had decided softly. “Alya wouldn't let that happen.” In case of any Lady information on her computer, the red-head had taken the necessary precautions for everyone in their household.

And yet, as she saw the piling inboxes of different websites, her e-mail, and even the envelopes upon her bed, she just wanted to know _why_.

Marinette refused to crumble into herself and cry about it. With nimble fingers, she typed different phrases upon her laptop in an attempt to find the information she wanted. It took longer than she wanted, but eventually, the post was upon an obscure blog that didn't reveal anything about the poster. There had been a request by an avid fan of Nino's—she assumed from the picture they had of him plastered across their website—offering a handsome amount of money in exchange for her information. There had been several answers, all attempting to collect the cash without much proof, but then there was the blog she'd stumbled across.

Attached to it was a photograph of Marinette, clad in her winter coat, boots, and knitted hat, sorting through their mail at their selected box with a small smile upon her lips. It was recent, definitely. There was no mistaking that that was her coat for that winter, and the address listed beneath sealed the deal. It had her details perfectly jotted down, including her name and where she attended university. The only piece of information missing was her cell phone number, thankfully.

Someone had sold her out, then.

If they were desperate for money, she would've understood, but the result of their selfish action had only caused hurt and an endless amount of paper being delivered. It wasn't going to be long before Alya found out, and then she was sure to be enraged and tear them up dramatically before attempting to track down the blog owner—which was not going to be pretty. Perhaps she would inform Nino, too.

The only acquaintance she knew who was more talented in hacking than Alya was Alix, and even then it had simply been a hobby for when she was done with her projects. After almost being arrested the year prior, Alix had swore she wouldn't hack anything, or anyone, that would've potentially jeopardised her education again (unless she was absolutely sure she was _fine_ ). There had been no more impressed whispers of her sneaky work, so requesting help from her was out. Hacking someone for selling her out seemed rather rude, though.

Marinette shook her head, getting rid of that trail of thought.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_Subject: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_Wait, can I type that? Isn't it counterproductive if you hide it just to be addressed it within an e-mail? Maybe you have a codename—oh, this is surely a personal e-mail address. That means you ask the people close to you to call you weird names. I'm getting distracted here._

_Hello. How are you?_

_I feel shy and I don't know why._

_Yours,  
Marinette_.'

After that, Marinette sent a message on her cell phone to Nathaniel to ask whether he was okay. He was still absent, and she had an inkling that it was for work with his alter ego. There was a chance that he wasn't going to respond to her, and remain silent and isolated like in the past, but she still attempted to reach out to him. Perhaps, he would know more about the comic adaption that was coming the following year, just so she had more information to sway Alya in her favour when the situation called for it.

To her surprise, Alya wasn't alone when she came home that evening. Mylène was by her side with a face expressing her worries, and it seemed that they'd forgotten to tell their room-mate's friends that she was currently occupied back at home (well, the hospital).

“We don't know much,” Marinette explained, sliding a warm mug over to the concerned blonde. “Rose broke her phone somehow, so she sent us a cliché postcard recently. I'm not sure when she'll be back.”

“So there's been no news?” Mylène asked softly, concern seeping into her tone. “None at all?”

Alya interjected, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Rose is _fine_ ,” she stressed, a kind smile upon her lips, “and the cast is coming off soon, so there's no reason for her to complain. The professors will e-mail her if she urgently needs to come back, but until then she feels like she has an obligation to be there.”

Mylène was a welcome change to their apartment during their busy week. The blonde marvelled over Marinette's silly stories of her internship, especially the highlights of her conversations with the ever-so-humorous Manon, and told her own soft tales that had her room-mate cackling with glee from imagining the situations. Mylène had also tentatively confessed her budding relationship with the burly Ivan, who was just as shy as she was so they often ended up holding hands and not progressing any further. When Alya took it upon herself to give the embarrassed female tips for dating, she had to hold in her chuckles while biting on her lower lip.

The bespectacled female had been extremely tight-lipped about her evening with the straight-haired Nino. Even though they sent each other knowing looks since then, sometimes smug smiles or raised eyebrows, they hadn't actually spoken about the subject. So, when Alya was profusely explaining how important it was to maintain eye contact and add in casual touches during their time together, the conversation was slowly becoming more amusing. The two of them had met _once_ in a private setting, and it hadn't meet their own idea!

When Mylène disappeared through their front door, Marinette raised her eyebrows at her room-mate.

Alya stuck her tongue out in a childish gesture. “Even _I've_ done more than her.”

“Are you meaning in general, or just with your current lover?” she enquired, leaning against the countertop with a smirk. It was no secret that Alya had enjoyed fooling around through the years, managing to never settle down in a long relationship (if there was one at all), and she'd constantly encouraged Marinette during the years to follow her desires. “I think a twelve-year-old has done more than her, unfortunately.”

“I just—I feel so _bad_ for her!” Alya exclaimed, gesturing wildly with her hands. “Who knew that Ivan was such a sensitive boy? I thought they'd be snogging in public at the first chance they got, but I barely even see them roaming around the campus.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not everyone enjoys kissing in public.”

“I'd have no complaints,” the red-head quipped, “and neither would you, if the opportunity ever popped up.”

Marinette chuckled. “I do hope you're not referring to Ivan there. As lovely as he is, I don't quite see that kind of relationship happening between us.”

“Don't be a bitch.” Alya huffed, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “Are we going to have this awkward talk, or can we skip it completely?”

She blinked. “Let's skin over the basics.”

“Great, good plan,” the tanned female, flashing her a bright smile. “I'm annoyed but you really helped out by bringing Nino here, so I'll just glare when your back is turned for a bit. We're going on a date soon—he's planning to _cook_.”

“...That sounds nice?” she said, though it came out more as a question. “Adrien asked me out, but I don't know when we're going to. He already knew I was Lady, so we're fine.”

Alya frowned for a moment before it was gone. “It's a bit weird that Nino fancied you—well, _Lady—_ but that's over, thankfully. I'd appreciate it if you kept your siren body away from him for a while.” The words were joking, and the wink the red-head directed at her only added to the bubbling mirth. It was a tad strange, of course, and there was absolutely no way she was going to tell her friend that she'd thought she'd fancied him, too.

“Good talk,” Marinette choked out, trying not to laugh.

Alya's lips wobbled. “Please arrange an appointment for the next.”

-x-

When Adrien had hinted that they'd receive a letter about a promising business offer, he hadn't been exaggerating. She'd walked into Alya openly gaping upon their couch, hands tightly clutching a letter that was strained and stretched. The first thought that popped into her head was that she could no longer hide the hate mail, as the red-head had beaten her to the mailbox that day, but that wasn't the case. As she was far too busy with the letter in her hands—which Marinette noticed was fine from the discarded envelope upon the countertop—she shoved the remainder of the mail that was addressed to her into her bag and placed it aside.

“Oh, my,” Alya was chanting repeatedly under her breath like a prayer. “ _Oh_.”

Marinette raised her eyebrows while approaching slowly. “Are you okay?”

“This is so fucking good, girl!” the red-head burst out with loudly, standing up far too quickly and stumbling a few steps before steadying herself upon Marinette's shoulder.

She blinked. “What's going on?”

“Fucking _Silencieux_ , Marinette! And the comic, oh, _fuck—_ I think I'm going to cry of happiness. I'm not even kidding right now,” Alya babbled constantly, a touch of hysteria in her tone. She was waving the letter around with her free hand, much too fast to read the words. The name was familiar, however—it was Nathaniel's pseudonym, but her friend wasn't privy to that information. “You can't refuse this. You just _can't_.”

“I'll need to know what you're actually on about this,” she prompted, attempting to retrieve details from the overwhelmed female.

When all that came out was the same butchered comments and phrases, Marinette snatched the letter from her unsuspecting hands and visibly gaped at the contents. Adrien had been completely right—the creator wanted Lady to appear within the opening, as well as the ending. They explicitly stated that they would protect her identity, and any that leaked the information would be fined if they were caught (perhaps that was how Nathaniel was still anonymous during his work). The offer was a lot of money, more so than they had been offered to that date, and the adaption that was described rung bells of recognition within her mind.

“Alya,” she started, looking at her visibly excited friend, “isn't this the television adaption of that comic you liked? With the tongue-tied prince?”

The red-head snatched the letter back to furiously read through the details again. “Holy shit,” she swore, eyes widening. “It fucking _is_.”

“Adrien's in this, too,” she revealed, tapping the page gently with her forefinger. “He warned me the other night that we'd be receiving an offer, but I didn't know what for.”

“Adrien?” Alya repeated, blinking. “Do you think he's going to be in the opening with you?”

She shook her head. “They approached him about voice acting a character. Apparently Nino's really jealous about it, since he's been wanting to do that for a while. He never mentioned Silencieux, though, or I would've told you.”

Accepting would be one way to have a friend that understood having an alter ego, though. Nathaniel would be there to witness her identity, and he would be in the same position—she was absolutely sure there was no chance of either of them selling each other out for money, too.

“Do you want to do it?” Alya questioned, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I don't want you to do this because of _me_ , even if it would be fucking amazing. This could potentially reveal you, but it could also be a fantastic career boost. I know you don't want to be a model, but being on television regularly would make our blog's popularity rocket.” There was most definitely enthusiasm within her tone, but she knew that her friend was trying to look out for her, too. She couldn't deny that it would rocket Lady's popularity, and bring more fans to their blog and then in turn purchase her clothing designs, along with gaining an ally within her occasional class-mate at university.

So, really, the only down side was whether or not she could buck up the courage to further herself without her connections. Lady wasn't associated with the Agreste name (somehow, the murmurs of their relationship never made it past Caline's lips, so it was a silly move), nor with Nino. The whispers within the industry and the offered sponsors and other such attention were solely because her ridiculous best friends' work, and it was finally spiralling past where her mind had predicted.

“I'll do this for you,” Marinette announced, lips curling into a reassuring smile, “to thank you for your ridiculous efforts; for making Lady a thing.” There was more than that, though. So when her friend began to open her mouth to reply, she cut her off with, “This is not something that's being handed to us—you and Rose worked hard at this, even if it was just to annoy me, and I _want_ to thank you.”

“For real?” Alya asked, vibrating with excitement.

Marinette laughed. “Yes,” she said, “and maybe if you're nice, you'll get to meet Silencieux.” And be utterly shocked at who he really was, too. “You're my manager, aren't you?”

“Among other things,” the red-head confirmed, eyes squinted from how large her smile was.

Alya promised to sort out the details and whipped out her cell phone before disappearing into her bedroom. It would be a lie if Marinette said she wasn't nervous about her first opportunity, especially since she had to actively model rather than the random snapshots that were taken of her each time, so distract herself from her beating heart she trailed towards her bedroom.

She filed through the e-mails on her laptop by searching for specific names. Her parents had sent a loving e-mail and asked her to stay for the weekend when her internship was over, and her father demanded a phone call when she was free as she'd missed their appointed one the previous week. There was no mentions of her pictures within the news or gossip magazines, but she was sure that there were more customers that normal at their business.

Adrien had replied.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Praline_

_Marinette,_

_As adorable as it is to read your words when you're flustered, I'd much prefer it if I could hear your voice instead. I don't suppose I can convince you to let me call you long-distance? I had the revelation that messaging via cell phones would be far too expensive, especially if it isn't in your cell-plan. So, we're stuck to e-mail until I can butter you up enough._

_It's fine to call me Adrien. This is for talking to friends (well, Nino), so there's no problem as long as there's no last names._

_Would you laugh if I said I miss you? I think you would._

_Yours,  
Adrien_.'

She hadn't questioned the cost. The funds came straight from her parents' bank account, and they hadn't complained recently about the amount of spending so she'd assume that all was well—and it probably was, but it was still sweet of him to worry despite the fact it was rather late.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_You make it sound as though Nino is your only friend, which is rather lonely. Don't you talk to Max, or even Chloé, through this? I suppose they are rather tech-savvy, so they'd prefer other means of contact. E-mails are quite nice, though. It's how I talk to my parents, other than phone calls. I'm rambling again._

_You'll have to do more than butter me up for a call._

_I find it hard to believe that you missed me when you didn't set a day for our date._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

There was no point acting coy. They'd flirted before, and she still didn't think she was all too experienced in it, but establishing their previous relationship with each other was a _good_ thing, albeit embarrassing. Marinette shook her head to rid the thoughts of the mail within her inbox and shoved deep within her bag.

She'd finalised the sketch for her design upon Adrien when she yawned. Marinette closed her sketchbook, placing it safely upon her desk before stretching and deciding to check her e-mail from the rare chance that the blond had replied. He hadn't mentioned where he was travelling to, so there was no chance of her knowing if there was a time difference between them at that moment.

As it turned out, he'd replied swiftly after she had.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Praline_

_Marinette,_

_Thank you for your concern about my lack of friends. I'd much prefer to have you and no one else, but I think that would be a rather unhealthy relationship. Let's try not to do that. My friends prefer their cell phones, since e-mails are quite tedious most of the time. That doesn't mean I want to stop talking to you, though._

_Won't you let me tell you myself how I missed you? I promise to behave._

_Yours,  
Adrien._ '

Her first reaction was to snort at his words that were just so typical with the e-mails she had become accustomed to, then she rolled her eyes fondly at his attitude. Adrien was clearly trying not to make her uncomfortable, even furthering their conversations past her pointless rambles.

“Cute,” she murmured.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_You'd utter a cat pun within the same sentence, I bet. That's not how you seduce anyone, let alone your wife. And you still haven't picked a date._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

She was doomed to the ever-fast beating of her heart, but she didn't mind.

 _PREVIEW:_ _“_ _Can I kiss you?” Marinette blurted, taking in a sharp breath afterwards._


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've never had Chloé being the almighty witch of the story, and there's a reason for that. She's not a perfect character, but I like to think she'd be a good friend (eventually). Thanks for all the support for this story! Sorry if anyone thinks this is dragging on... but they haven't even kissed yet, and it's not even halfway? My bad.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

It wasn't obvious that there had been growing expectations swirling around within her mind until the day passed, she'd settled down into the lumpy couch in the apartment while waiting for her friend to come home, when she checked her cell phone and finally realised the date. It was the day where she had possibly expected some sort of contact from the ever-busy Adrien, but that wasn't the case at all. The fourteenth was a quiet affair of her afternoon classes, then receiving a message from Alya that she was going on a date for that evening. And so, that left her cooking a simple meal, thinking about her internship for that week that was the last few days to prepare everything until the fashion show the following Friday.

She was nervous about many things—making sure the clothing fitted her mischievous model correctly, the budding relationship with said model, and how she was going to deal with the business proposal. Alya had contacted and accepted the offer, and details were going to reach them as soon as possible. As much as she wanted to simply message Nathaniel and ask for his advice on how to keep her identity a secret, she was mostly curious about _what_ she would be doing. Lady was not known for her face—and surely, that would've been mentioned in the proposal—so there was a clear plan there, one that she hadn't been quite told yet. If it was known that Adrien was involved in the series, then there were bound to be reporters everywhere, waiting to snap a glimpse of him when he walked to or from the building. Then again, not many knew that he was delving into that side of a career. So far, he had simply been a model that occasionally went on television, radio shows, and had appeared on television shows.

Social media was filled with acquaintances posting pictures of themselves on dates, fans speculating what their beloved was doing that evening, and Marinette scrolled through each and every one with a bored expression. There was no material to start making the clothing yet; the company was providing all of it, in return for their work, so she had to wait until the following day for picking the best ones. Perhaps, there would be a battle between all of the interns in an attempt to get the most pleasing fabrics, but that would've been counterproductive. She shook her head, willing the harsh thoughts to disappear.

She didn't know if Adrien was back in the country, whether he was busy for the evening, or what he was doing at all. It was disconcerting to realise that she very much cared what he was doing with his free time, and the curiosity wasn't quenched when she typed in his name within her cell phone's browser to find one of his social media pages.

That was odd, was it not?

It's what most would resort to when they wanted to know about someone, though. She tried to reason with herself, adamantly closing the page and instead going to load her e-mails when her cell phone vibrated.

“Hello?” she said, phone hitting her ear audibly.

It was her mother. The conversation with her family was swift, straight to the point, and rather amusing. Her father had had trouble choosing a restaurant for that evening, so they'd decided that Marinette was perfect to choose for them—clearly, they hadn't expected her to be out, despite the date. That was quite a blow to her ego, but very true.

There was no use fussing. With a smile on her lips from the parting joke her father had uttered, Marinette knitted her eyebrows together in confusion as she looked at her contact list.

“Adrien Agreste,” she read aloud, scrolling down, “and Prince Chat.”

He had two cell phones. Well, of course he did—but _why_? Which was he expecting to talk to her on? Adrien had suggested to avoid messages and calls while he was away so her bill wouldn't add up handsomely (despite the fact that they hadn't discussed that in the past, perhaps he'd only just realised), but she wasn't going to wait for him to answer her last e-mail—it had been almost twenty-four hours by the point, and when he was busy, he usually sent a quick message her way.

She was almost becoming clingy.

Marinette slapped her cheeks, murmuring how pathetic the feeling of attachment was. He had his own life, she had hers, too, so the few moments where their time interlaced together was precious, and she needed to accept only that. They couldn't always be together, or meet during their free time, as his schedule was harsh and she needed to focus on her education, too. So, after biting her lower lip until it was slightly swollen, she'd decided to treasure the fleeting moments where she was enjoy his sweetness all to herself, and pressed to call the _correct_ name.

There wasn't a long period of time until he picked up.“Chloé? What's up?” Adrien asked, his voice sounding tired and low.

Blinking, the dark-haired female corrected, “...Not Chloé.”

“ _Marinette_?” he guessed, suddenly sounded more awake than before. “What the...” After he'd trailed off and she'd sat there upon the couch within the darkening room, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, she gnawed on her cheek while walking towards her bedroom for the evening. There was the noise of him fumbling with his cell phone for a few minutes, before he uttered a curse word under his breath. “Are you still here?”

The call was still connected. “Yes.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Nino changed your name to Chloé—there's no Marinette in my contacts any more.”

“Well, I'm on your phone now.”

“Did you— _oh_ , fuck. That was even worse than me.” And despite his words, there was obvious laughter in his voice, from the shaking volume and pronunciation, and after he'd finished he burst into guffaws that had her smiling, not at all embarrassed by the terrible joke (it had been for him, after all). “All right, _Chloé_ , how can I help you?”

She rolled her eyes at the name. “You're not telling me off about the call, so I'm assuming you're back home.”

“I'm actually in the back of a car right now,” Adrien replied, breathing another sigh. “My sleep is going to messed up for a few days, that I know for sure.”

“My condolences,” she murmured, trying not to laugh at how utterly disappointed he had sounded. “Aren't you glad that you're back with Plagg soon?”

He made a noise of disapproval. “He's probably scratched up Nino's furniture while I've been gone. I'll have to replace it before it's seen.” And before she could question it, he continued to say, “Yes, he has abandonment issues and releases them by destroying my cousin's things—he's particularly fond of scratching his speakers, somehow.”

“Good to know,” Marinette tried to reply in a steady voice.

“Hey!” Adrien exclaimed suddenly, interrupting her contained laughter. “What if we have our date this weekend? I think I have the perfect idea for it.”

She blinked, mind wandering to think about whether she really had the time. There were projects for university that she had to wade through, along with creating the suit that he had to wear for the oncoming week. It would be a stretch to fit it all in, and make sure she had above-average results, so with a frown on her lips, Marinette replied that she didn't quite think she could. He didn't sound disappointed; the blond made a noise of understanding and changed the subject, asking about her days instead. The conversation was light, sweet, and the fact that he wasn't pestering her about any heavy topics was refreshing.

When she mentioned that Alya had disappeared on a date with his cousin, it was revealed that Adrien hadn't even known that detail. He'd exclaimed, loudly, how vocal Nino had been on the journey back from dinner with them last night, practically reciting all the ways that the red-head was wonderful and just fun to be around, and to hear such things from Adrien in a mocking tone was more amusing than annoying—he couldn't be annoying if he tried, it seemed. Even when he pestered her for a date, when he wormed his way into her apartment unexpectedly, and even with there was the identity confusion, he had never _irritated_ her. It must have been a talent.

They talked well into the late hours of the evening, and his words were quite slurred from sleepiness by the time that she wished him a good sleep with a wide smile. He'd stumbled over his words, and the sound of how adorable he was when lethargic was just so adorable that she couldn't quite hold back from coddling him slightly.

Alya's date had been a success. She'd proudly walked into Marinette's bedroom well past midnight, slammed the door open which created such noise that it startled her awake, and placed her hands on her hips in a powerful pose. Her curls were unruly, free, and her spectacles were gone for the evening in favour for contact lenses, and her dress had such deep cleavage that she visibly gaped at her. The red-head announced that Nino was a dork, that they'd kissed, and that was it. After shooting a wink at the bewildered Marinette, she strut out of the room and shut the door behind her. That was all the information that was offered, and that was all she knew.

The following day, when she was huddled with the other interns and walking to be shown where the materials were kept, she found out through the gossiping employees they passed that Nino had posted a picture with him holding hands with someone the previous evening. She soon found the picture of his social media, and it was most definitely Alya's hand—she had the sponsorship nail colour on—and that was about all that it showed. It was simply their clasped hands placed upon his thigh, with a caption stating that he was having the best evening.

It was nice that her friend was happy, and that she'd found someone who had genuine feelings for her (from what she could tell). It couldn't be helped that he was a celebrity, and she was certainly happy that Alya hadn't fallen for him through films, or other naïve means; she was purely interested in him after they had typed to each other, and that was enough to make Marinette feel proud of her friend.

Of course, some fans were outraged. She just hoped that Alya wouldn't receive negative mail, too. If it was found that she was close with Marinette, then perhaps the hate would worsen and fester into something spiteful. Marinette had decided she could handle the hateful comments, the rude messages that were scrawled across pictures, as long there wasn't anything physically awful; as soon as dead animals, or maybe even something to do with bodily functions, then she was going straight to the police about harassment.

She was strong—a few messages weren't going to break her. There were kind, loving friends around her, and that was all that she needed.

Manon was actively trying to get all of the interns together to party before their time at the company was over. The travel distance for all of them was playing a deciding factor in them all rejecting the offer, even when Manon suggested that they could stay at a hotel and rent a room. Even though they had been together for almost two months, the kinship between them all was shaky at best. Although she had grown fond of them all—on different levels, because for some the negative qualities was what was endearing about them—that didn't mean she was willing to travel an hour to go between all of their homes, and sleep in a single room together. Timid Simon had been the one to mutter his no first, and that was definitely impactful; sweet , shy Simon, the one that toddled along and blushed when addressed, was the voice of reason to the feisty Manon, who had taken to stomping her feet loudly while walking through the halls in protest.

They were given the measurement for the models—it turned out that while Simon hadn't been selected by a model, there were a lot more that were being featured in the show. He had simply not been chosen by the big named models that were going to be in attendance, the ones that the press and other new about beforehand. So, he was introduced to a choice of two towering models of either gender, so he could pick according to his design.

There was more than enough fabrics to go around. Marinette happily scooped up the ones she needed with a smile, rolling them up and placing as much as she could within her larger bag for that day.

When she got home, she ripped up the negative mail that had accumulated, conversed with Alya over dinner, before disappearing into her room to start with her design. The rickety mannequin within her closet was pulled out and assembled, and she began marking out her sizes with a smile tugging on her lips.

Adrien sent her a picture via cell phone of scratches across the side of Nino's speakers, with the culprit happily licking his paw in front of the crime scene.

They didn't talk until it was almost midnight, and she was stirred from her work by the sound of her cell phone. Marinette had jumped, dropping the fabric and scissors onto the empty desk, and blinked in surprise.

“Chloé?” she greeted, taunting their last call.

“Very funny,” Adrien replied dryly. “I was wondering if you were still up, but I'm assuming you are from your cheeky attitude.”

Pulling her cell phone back to glance at the time, she blinked. “Just because your sleep is messed up doesn't mean you can ruin mine, too. Some of us have places to be in the morning.”

He scoffed. “Are you trying to say your life is more important than me? I'm wounded, Marinette. Truly.”

“And here I thought your ego couldn't be any worse,” she teased, settling herself upon her bed, back aching from having been hunched over for a long period of time. “If I were you, I'd utter something along the lines of you being my life.”

If she'd expected him to be offended, then she really didn't know him. “You are absolutely correct,” Adrien confessed, and she could tell by his tone that he was grinning widely. Adrien was one of the happiest, most easygoing individuals she had ever met, and knowing that he had been raised in the cruel world in the public eye, she wondered how he had ever been raised so fantastically. Perhaps that was being too judging, but knowing that he'd came out untouched by the greed and general ugliness of the harsh world was simply _wonderful_. “Is it too late to ask you to be mine for the holiday everyone loves?”

A snort of disbelief slipped out. “It's the _sixteenth_ , Adrien. I think you can ask me next year instead.”

“I _forgot_!” he defended.

“I'm sure,” she replied dryly, raising her eyebrows despite the fact that he couldn't see. “I even called you that evening, while Alya was on a date with Nino. You really have no excuse.” Her words were teasing, mostly, and she almost dreaded to think of what romantic gestures he would've done if they had been together; the most they had done was visited a fair that they'd spoken about before, and she doubted she had been much of a romantic when she was young. Whether he made good choices when it was up to him was yet to be decided. “Oh, I'm positively _wounded_.”

The dramatic words she'd uttered caused an abrupt laugh from him. “Sometimes I wonder why I like you.”

She did, too.

Their conversation trailed off once again, and she certainly didn't mind how casual and light-hearted their calls had become as of late, and the fact that he was opening his busy schedule to converse with her in the evenings was such a compliment, and it made fondness to swell around in her heart, heartbeat stuttering as she thought about how much she was enamoured with him. When they whispered farewell, her cheeks were warm and a happy smile was across her lips.

The tinkling of bells caught her attention once she'd changed into her pyjamas.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _I hope you'll save yourself for me next year, princess._ '

So he was going to be embracing the nickname, too. Biting the inside of her cheek, Marinette rolled her eyes in light amusement and typed a reply with her cold fingertips.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You know, it's said that marriages aren't recognised until they're consummated._ '

Tying to imagine his surprised expression wasn't working out too well, and as she settled underneath the duvet and look in the room as she turned off the lap, a cold feeling ran through her body as she caught sight of the flash of golden hair upon her wall—Adrien had been in her bedroom, he'd seen the junk and what was plastered across her walls and on the desk, and he must have seen that there was one of him, placed snugly on her wall and practically glowing at that moment. He hadn't mentioned it, though—whether it was out of sparing her the embarrassment, or because he genuinely didn't mind, she wasn't so sure.

Her cell phone sounding stopped her trail of thought.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _Are you inviting me to seduce you?_ '

She wetted her lips.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Do you really need permission?_ '

As it turned out, he didn't. Marinette had passed through her weekend, working through her time at the company—thankfully, she hadn't been selected for chores at all during the days—by carefully crafting her clothing for the upcoming event in less than a week, and she was thoroughly stressed and looked rather frazzled whenever she walked (or stumbled). Alya was busying herself different projects, and they merely exchanged weary glances over dinner, where they almost inhaled their quick food and ran away back to their bedrooms for the rest of their time. Marinette made sure to wake up first and fetch their post, sluggishly throwing the negative mail in the bin, and by the time that mid-week had rolled around, they received news that their missing room-mate was coming back.

Rose's cast had been removed at the start of the week, and she was ready to come back from the long weeks of her disappearance. Her professors were sure to be ticked off, and although she'd tried to keep up with her assignments, she might have spent far too long absent to catch up quickly. Alya had grinned happily at the news before looking paler, smile falling from her lips, and her deep sienna eyes were wide and disbelieving as she looked at Marinette for support. She didn't under, though; it was great news that their best friend was coming back, and there was so much to tell her—

Oh, _fuck_.

She didn't want to be there when Alya tentatively explained that she was romantically involved with Nino, not at all, but she _knew_ that she had to be there for emotional support. The blonde was dramatic, that was true, but she was only going to be annoyed for having missed out on the gossip at first, and then it would sink in that the helpless crush that she'd harboured for years was useless, and if the tanned male ever came to visit, he was surely going to cause her a bit of pain, and no matter how small that was, it wasn't nice to think about.

Adrien had continued their nightly calls—well, they couldn't really be classed as calls, really. They were few, short, straight to the point and wishing her a nice sleep, and that was it. He was persuading her to sleep when she really wanted to stay up to correct and finalise the outfit, but he was having none of that. The blond stubbornly kept repeating that if she wasn't going to sleep, then neither was he (and he had interviews that week, too, which prompted her to agree with a jutted out lower lip). He didn't ask for any updates of the outfit, and that was strange to think about; she was unsure if the other interns had shown their sketches or progress to their models, but she simply continued and shoved that trail of thought aside.

Friday came along with dark bags beneath her eyes. She squinted into the mirror, brushing the damp hair from her face, before deciding to do away with the hassle and pulled it into a wet, high bun. Her fringe was clipped away, the cold strands not causing her teeth to chatter from the cold air when she went outside. Although the fashion show was that afternoon—she had time to worry in private—they were still expected to arrive at the company by their own means before being escorted by a selected vehicle. Their clothing was going to be stashed with the others, and hopefully untouched by the time they were there, and the set-up time was when she was sure her stomach would churn uncomfortable and possibly make her feel nauseated from nerves.

Her attire was simple; tight, dark-washed jeans that had tiny rips at the knees, a striped t-shirt that she was quite fond of, and a block-coloured shirt that she left open on top. It was casual, and bright enough to hopefully distract those she met from inspecting her puffy eyes, and dark circles from the lack of sleep. Thankfully, there weren't any cuts on her hands or arms. She laced her flat boots, taking in deep breaths to combat the nerves.

Alya was asleep on sofa when she ventured into the kitchen to collect a cold water bottle. She considered waking her up, but after checking the time it proved that she still had time for a precious hour sleep that Marinette was deeply jealous of. So, with her bag upon her back and hair still damp, the small female carefully wrapped her work up in protective coverings before making her way to catch the designated bus.

Manon was buzzing with excitement, hazel-coloured eyes wide and darting everywhere, and she'd covered her clothing with bubble wrap. Trying to hold back at snort at the quirky alternative, Marinette took her seat while they waited for the rest of the interns to arrive. The brown-haired female babbled on, flicking through topics quickly and talking for the sake of distraction rather than interest, and Marinette simply nodded her head in response and made the appropriate noises, knowing that she didn't much care for her answer.

Théo covered his in a black bag that was surely meant for bins, Vincent had used plastic, and Simon had wrapped his in fabric. They all expressed their nerves in different ways, and, thankfully, there were no uttered insults at each other, despite their close proximity when they were ushered into a car together. Marinette was constantly clenching her fists, teeth biting into her skin, and trying not to think of the worst. There wasn't a clear failure; it was a fashion show. There weren't going to be judges announcing their scores, or anything like that. Although reporters had been informed that a few of the selections from that day were going to be made by interns, they weren't going to be told specifically which—the prominent named designers were going to be featured, too, so it was a matter of attempting to make their works up to par.

They were directed towards a large dressing room, bare of any decorations other than the rails full of protected clothing and various stools and mirrors littering the room. Marinette wandered over to the selection, picking her own and holding it protectively in her arms while the others did much the same.

Manon wandered over to her side, pulling her by the hand to settle down on chairs together. “I never really said this, but I'm sorry if me complaining about Nino ever upset you.”

She blinked, bewildered. “Pardon?”

Waving her hand, the brunette explained, “When I stayed over your apartment—I said some pretty rude remarks about him, without realising that you were friends. It was inconsiderate of me, and very immature.” Working with him, however briefly, had probably opened up her eyes tos ee how narrow-minded her dislike at been.

“It's fine, Manon,” she replied, trying not to laugh at the wide, innocent brown-coloured eyes directed at her. “How were you supposed to know? I don't openly talk about it much.”

“Well, I basically said I despised one of your friends, and had a crush on the other—not the best way to make someone like you.”

She really did laugh at that. Marinette's guffaw was abrupt, slightly breathy, and the accompanying smile reached her bright eyes. “I've missed you,” she murmured, wrapping an arm around the brunette's shoulder to pull her closer fondly. “It's going to be strange not seeing you every week.”

“A blessing in disguise for some,” Manon quipped, raising her eyebrows as she wrapped her arms underneath Marinette's open shirt. “I could always attach myself as a leech and live with you, I'm sure your room-mates would be cool with it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're not quite small enough for that.”

“I dream small.” Manon grinned toothily. “Do you remember what I told you about my lovely mother?” Without waiting for her to respond, other than the slight nod of her head, she continued to mutter, “She's coming _here_.”

From what she could remember, Manon's mother was a prominent figure of some sort that was always away from home—no, that wasn't right. Manon lived with her grandmother, barely saw her mother, and used to receive gifts through the mail before they dwindled and she'd donated the last one to charity. “That's not a good thing, then,” she mused. Even though Manon's dislike for Nino had been because of how her mother had marvelled over him—had they met, and she'd gushed about him? Or was it connected to her mysterious work?

Manon scowled, burrowing her head into Marinette's neck and squeezing her tightly. “Absolutely not. She never attended my school plays or anything, but _now_ she's only here because of work—it's never _me_.”

The female beside her was one starved of parental love, and the bitterness of abandonment was showing, once again, through their conversation. Unsure of how to comfort her from the hole that was blatantly left in her heart, Marinette wrapped her other arm around her and squeezed in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. Although they didn't speak for some moments, she was sure that the movement was somewhat appreciated since she didn't pull away. They had become close, definitely, and Marinette hoped that they would continue to converse further than the wacky messages they exchanged when the internship was over. Officially, they had two days after the show to be together during company times, and then it was done. They were the two that lived closest out of all the interns, but that was still some distance.

“I'm babbling,” Manon mused, nuzzling against her flesh, “quick, distract me with your problems.”

Making a noise of contemplation, Marinette wondered whether she remembered her silly dilemma. They had spoken before about her mysterious friend from the past, but that risked the chance of said blond walking into the room with the other models and perhaps overhearing the conversation.

So, with a smirk across her lips, she asked, “Has Max contacted you yet? It's been a while.”

“That hurts,” Manon complained, poking a finger into Marinette's side and causing her to yelp in surprise (and for Théo to raise his eyebrows in their direction). “I said _your_ problems, not my lack of a love life.”

“Okay, you devil,” she replied, voice quivering from restrained laughter. “I don't really have any...?” After trailing off, Manon jabbed her side with the clear meaning for her to continue. “ _Fine_. Remember that guy I told you about before? He knows now, and we're... going on a date soon.”

Manon pulled her arms back, sitting upright with wide eyes and a large smile. “ _Really_? That's great!”

“That's all you're getting,” Marinette pointed out, eyes narrowed. “I mean it.”

“ _Mari_ ,” Manon sang, snaking her arms around her waist again and resting her chin on her shoulder, “don't you want to share your woes with me?”

She snorted. “No, you wench. I'm fine.”

Making a noise of disapproval, Manon frowned openly. “And you're no fun, too. I'll have to turn to gossip magazines to find out the details of your love life.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yes,” the brunette replied, winking. “It's all the rage nowadays—poor girl Marinette being seduced by the blond prince who she'd known from childhood.”

She glared. “I don't quite think that's right.”

A new voice appeared along with a shadow casting over them. “She's the one actively seducing me, actually.” And along with the soft, low voice that she was becoming increasingly familiar with, loose jeans came into view, along with Adrien's raised eyebrows and crossed arms. “It looks like she's cheating on me right now, though.”

Of course he'd appear while they were mentioning him! She'd thought there was a possibility, but to see him standing before her with a curious expression, with hair that was coiffed as perfectly as usual, caused her cheeks to burn and become more aware of how much body contact she was sharing with her friend. Adrien was there, smiling despite the interruption, and she narrowed her eyes in his direction and hugged her _tighter_.

“Oh,” Adrien gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest, “my heart can't take this betrayal.”

“Then don't butt into conversations,” she scolded, watching Marinette's bewildered expression in her peripheral vision. “It's not polite.”

His hand fell to his side, and he winked. “I'm here to introduce myself to your friend, so if you'd willingly relinquish your hold on her, I'd appreciate it.”

With raised eyebrows, Marinette unwrapped her arms from her friend—who was comically silent, which was not a quality that was associated with her often—and scooted along the seat to allow a bit more space between them. Manon stood up, wiped her hands on her dress, and stuck her hand out in a clear welcoming gesture with a smile. Loud, enthusiastic, little Manon had said that she had a crush on him before, but she hadn't really looked for the signs; the brunette had been fine with Max, especially when they spent the evening walking around together, but when faced with the opportunity to shake her childhood crush's hand? That was when she was tongue-tied, and it caused Marinette to pretend to itch her cheek to hide her smile.

Shaking her hand with a wide smile, Adrien said, “I heard you called my cousin a ponce—among other things—and I'd like to say that I completely understand.”

“Manon,” she blurted, not removing her hand after the movement had ended. “I, well— _I_ kissed your friend Max.”

If there was a better way to be introduced, Marinette didn't know. She broke into laughter much the same as Adrien, and she positively _giggled_ and Manon covered her mouth with her hands, looking absolutely flabbergasted and not believing what she'd accidentally said. Well, she hadn't mentioned that detail from the charity event, and after weeks of no contact with the male, too, it was a strange move to mention it. Manon's cheeks burnt a bright red, and to relieve her of some of her embarrassment, the dark-haired female stood up and wrapped an arm loosely around her shoulder in a half-hearted hug.

“And I've probably kissed this buffoon in front of us,” Marinette quipped, smiling at her friend, “but then again, who knows what marriages between children entail?”

Manon blinked, turning her embarrassed gaze to her—the silent plea of saving her any further humiliation in her bright, hazel-coloured eyes.

“I'll have you know that I was the perfect gentlemen,” Adrien pointed out, making a noise of disapproval. “I never had the girls have germs stage, but I was taught only to kiss on the cheeks—so that's what you got, you evil wife.”

She breathed out, pushing strands of hair that had fallen loose from her face. “My _cheek_?” she questioned dramatically. “That's scandalous!”

Narrowing his eyes, the blond pointed out, “You're the one that proposed to _me_.”

“Both times?” she asked.

“I asked after the first divorce—but that's irrelevant right now.” His tone was light-hearted and playful, and the shaking of the brunette's shoulders beside her showed that their impromptu conversation had relieved her worries of embarrassment. “Anyway, I've come to tell you that, unfortunately, you won't be the one undressing me today.”

Trying not to roll her eyes at his choice of wording, Marinette prompted him to continue with a wave of her hand.

His grin was lopsided. “We can remedy that later, no problem.” And with those words, she narrowed her eyes and tried not to be offended by Manon's splutter of laughter. “Interns are here to watch and observe, so you'll all be sat down back here unless you're requested to help anyone. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I was the first model here—Nino's picking up coffee for everyone first.”

“I'd say we're fine if we get some coffee, too, but I doubt that's going to happen,” she mused.

Manon shuffled away from the half-hearted embrace, flashing them both a small smile before excusing herself in the shy way that she'd shuffled into. It was quite endearing to see, and the rosy cheeks had disappeared as she wandered over to Théo's side, and she busied herself with conversing with the other interns while the dark-haired female was left standing in front of Adrien, a tentative smile upon her lips and unsure of where their conversation was going to take them.

“So,” he started, chin raised and eyes focused on where she'd hung her outfit on earlier, “you really didn't include any latex, right?”

“The first question you ask me when we're alone is about _latex_?” Marinette teased, lips curling into a smirk. “I never knew you were into such things, Mister Agreste.”

He visibly shuddered, shaking his head and causing the golden strands to fall out of place on his forehead. “It gives me the chills when you call me that at work, and all I can imagine is you addressing my father and that's bloody weird to imagine.”

She blinked. Strange to imagine, indeed. “Did he ever know about, u-us?” Trying to play off the stutter as nothing, she didn't miss the widening of his smile of the steps forward he'd taken. It was a work setting, but they appeared to be close friends that were chatting away to each other; it wasn't much different than she'd done with Manon—rather, it had more space between them—but the unsteady beating of her heart as his shadow loomed over her was a giveaway that her feelings weren't platonic, and they hadn't been for a long time. “Sorry, that was a weird question.”

“Not at all.” Adrien hummed, shaking his head and smiling softly. “Your parents never knew about me, so it's understandable. I don't think he was ever told you name, but I was supposed to be busy studying whenever I stayed at Nino's, so my aunt and uncle kept our playing a secret. They wanted me to be more like a child.”

Knitting her eyebrows together, his emerald eyes had an unreadable emotion in them. “Then how did you ever explain about Plagg or any bruises you had?” she questioned quietly, making sure their conversation wasn't overhead.

He wetted his lips. “I was a clumsy child.”

Snorting, Marinette asked, “And how did you did you get away with that?”

“With make-up to cover the bruises, but other than that he wasn't around often enough to see the damage. It was only a problem at work.”

Seeing him talk about such topics with nonchalance made a pang of pity run through her, and she was quick to cover it from her expression. It wouldn't be good to openly display that she felt sorry for him; or, rather, his lack of a childhood. He was where he was today because of such parenting, and even if she didn't agree with it, voicing her complaints wouldn't mend the rift or the bland voice he talked about his father in. So, with a tentative smile and making sure to look into his composed eyes, Marinette edged forward to take one of his warm, slightly calloused, hands into her own and simply squeezed when he was visibly surprised.

“Why, Marinette,” he started, lips curling into a grin. “We're at _work_.”

“I have three days left,” the dark-haired female pointed out, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “And I was just going to say I won't rough you up so you have to cover yourself in make-up for work any more.”

It was the wrong thing—it was so completely wrong, and from the curve of his lips as they pulled into a wolfish, and smug, smile, she released a groan and rolled her eyes. “And what if I said if I was into that?”

“I was trying to be serious!” Marinette scolded, attempting to tug her hand from his, which resulted in his tightening his grip and keeping her captive. Instead, she hit his shoulder lightly with her free one and scowled openly. “What is someone hears _you_? There's enough rumours about us already.”

His expression didn't falter. “Let's make them not rumours, then.”

Despite the fluttering of her heart from their contact combined with the teasing words, she huffed, clearly disapproving of the suggestion. “Yes, absolutely. That would go over really well—why don't you announce to everyone that we're married while you're at it? I never knew you were such a genius, Adrien.”

“With this attitude, I'm going to have to call our lawyer again.”

“That would be my pleasure,” she quipped, pursing her lips afterwards. The words caused no change for his teasing expression, though—if anything, he looked happier from her sarcastic remarks, and knowing that he wasn't offended by her personality nor the fact that she wasn't the innocent child any longer was warming to her heart. He wasn't expecting the young Marinette, the one that he'd grown up with and known fluently; the blond standing before her was getting to know her for _her_ , not the connection to the past that was foreign. If he had only wanted her previous self—no matter how naïve and childlike it would've been—then he would've disappeared after her confession about amnesia, and yet, he hadn't. He'd stuck around, trying not to hurt her feelings and attempting to push her to his real self without causing trouble and unnecessary drama. “So, have you decided a day for our date?”

Raising his eyebrows, the blond replied, “And here I thought you were discreetly rejecting me.”

Staff were beginning to pile within the large open space. The stools and seats were being taken, rails having clothing hung up upon, and noise was starting to buzz around them. There was limited time left, yet they were standing there, hands awkwardly clutched together in not quite a sweet way, and she couldn't have been happier with the result.

“Perhaps,” Marinette answered slowly, drawing out her syllables, “or I'm trying to play hard to get.”

His laughter was quiet, a few melodic sounds escaping, and his shoulders shook almost silently for a few moments. “The only thing hard to get with you is sleep,” Adrien retorted before grimacing, his free hand raising to touch the nape of his neck in the self-conscious gesture that made her chest warm whenever she saw it. “That came out wrong. I— _not_ that you're easy... I—just—”

She snorted, releasing her hand from his grip to poke his chest with her index finger. “Smooth.”

Even though he wasn't offended by her laughter, Adrien narrowed his eyes, golden-tinged eyelashes creating shadows along the soft skin of his cheekbones, and leaned forward to whisper, “I'll take that as a challenge.” And as his breath splashed across her face—he'd recently brushed his teeth, she noticed—and warmth blossomed across her cheeks, a strangled gasp of surprise escaped as his lips placed a chaste kiss onto her cheek. He pulled back with a mischievous expression, a wide grin that showed his dimples, and simply winked before departing, seeking out his fellow models across the room.

Well, at least they'd upgraded from the cheesy hand kisses.

-x-

When Rose had burst through their apartment clutching a variety of magazines to her chest while throwing her bag upon the floor straight away, Marinette had openly gaped at the sight of how _happy_ her friend looked. The blonde looked healthy, definitely; the short golden strands had grown slightly, making the cut not look too awkward any more, and the cast was gone with no embarrassing after-effects. She ran, feet thundering against the floor, and dove upon her and Alya on the couch with an audible loss of breath from the movement. Rose grinned, showing the whites of her teeth, and positioned herself so she was lying across both of their laps, head propped against the arm of the sofa in what should've been an uncomfortable position.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Alya said, blinking. Her spectacles were askew.

There weren't any tears. Only happy words were exchanged, and then Rose proudly presented the magazines that she'd brought with her. It was more important than the news of her time away, apparently, and from the cover image being a shot of both Nino and Adrien, she understood why. With her teeth gnawing into her lower lip and hands trembling, Marinette flicked through the glossy pages until she arrived at the section she wanted. The first magazine—one of three, the blonde bought quite the selection—showed a variety of the models that had been featured, and they showed Théo's design unknowingly. There were speculations in the paragraphs over who designed which, but none were going to be revealed from sources other than the designer themselves.

She found hers in the second and third magazine. Swallowing in an attempt to rid herself of the lump in her throat, Marinette stared at the largest picture of Adrien featured—the elegantly coiffed hair, golden-tinged eyelashes framing his bright eyes, and the plump lips that were arranged in a stoic expression. It was strange, really, knowing him so well and then seeing such a neutral expression; it was how he made a living, and it was no wonder that he was an expert at masking his emotions at that point in his life. Growing up, he must have swallowed his woes and put on a brave face per his father's request, and then it was ingrained in his mind to do it at every show. The bright and smiling pictures of him within magazines didn't do him justice either; they couldn't capture the depth of his eyes, the curve of his almost there dimples, or the sheer warmth he gave out.

So, along with the image she'd previously had of him on her wall, Marinette carefully placed her favourite picture of him in the outfit she'd created. It was a mostly black-coloured ensemble—dark suit jacket, shirt, and trousers—with cream accents scattered throughout. The buttons upon the shirt were bright, the collar much the same, and the buttons by his wrists stood out, too. She'd opted out of having an elbow patch, deeming it too bright and out of place, and instead chose simplicity to compliment his skin's colour and how fell he was able to pull off dark-coloured clothing. There were no visible loose threads or damages—which caused her to sigh in relief—and although she was present in the room, she hadn't seen the attire until it was fully on, when he was ready to step out and parade across the room.

The only disaster, if it could be classed as one, was that Nino had started to trip before finding his balance when it was his turn. He'd grinned, rubbed the back of his neck, and strutted in the maroon-coloured suit as though it was planned.

Her internship was over. There were no tears, though she almost received an awkward embrace from Vincent before he'd flushed and pulled away, never actually making body contact. Simon had hugged her briefly, and Théo had ruffled her hair and caused her bun to fall askew. Manon, naturally, had bright eyes that were filled with dramatic emotions, but no liquid escaped from them and neither did she whine or wail. Xavier and Penny had thanked them for their time, and although there were no job opportunities given out to them, they were welcomed to use them as references in the future.

Rose had quite the dilemma, though.

“ _His name's Ali_ ,” the blonde had explained, “ _and I think he might have a bit of a crush on me_.”

It was an understatement. Rose's cell phone was fixed, therefore she'd shared her number with the male that she was visiting at the hospital, and it seemed that they had grown close in the time they spent together. In a secluded room with a male, who had no close friends or family as he'd been visiting their country on a whim, who had no one visit outside of the hospital other than her had formed an attachment. She hastily explained that she thought they were friends; she'd pick up his selected items, spend the days reading or other activities that didn't require him getting out of bed, and then she'd started to notice the flush of his cheeks wasn't from his condition. The shy comments then became obvious, and before long she'd freaked out and blurted that she was _married_.

And so, Marinette found herself relaying that information to Adrien on Sunday evening, after she'd officially finished her internship and spent a good few hours lounging after with her friends. Their original plan to drink and laugh about their time apart had fallen through when Alya quipped that she still had work to do, and then that had sent the blonde into a panic about all of her missing time. With a quick embrace to each of them, Rose had darted out of the room and shut her bedroom door firmly behind her.

“It's just a joke that she's married, too!” Marinette said, leaning back against the pillows on her mattress. “I mean, I guess I can understand her panicking a bit? But claiming she's taken like that, especially when she has no ring, is absolutely ridiculous and I think he actually _bought_ it.”

Humming for a moment, Adrien mused, “Is this your way of asking me to buy you a ring?”

“I think you have a one-track mind,” she replied grumpily. “Aren't you supposed to be thinking everything's about sex?”

He laughed, and she tried to imagine his grin. “If I am, I'm just not announcing it aloud.”

That wasn't a lie. She couldn't recall off the top of her head whether they'd actually flirted with that topic aloud, though they certainly had in their messages at times. Warmth flooded her cheeks as she remembered his casual admittance to certain activities, quite a while ago, and wondered whether he still partook in them. When she'd considered venturing down that trail of thought, she'd denied herself—but what was stopping her now? There was no confusion any longer, and the attraction was clear between them. Status was the only thing separating them, but they were still conversing as often as possible (talking in hushed tones in the late evening, longer after it was usually deemed appropriate). With that thought in mind, Marinette shifted her legs, well aware of the stutter of her pulse from her distraction.

“Marinette?” he called, voice soft.

Right. “Sorry,” she squeaked, pushing her cheek into the pillow as she turned to the side. “I was... distracted.”

“By my secret thoughts?” Adrien questioned, amusement clear within his tone. “I can assure you, you're the starring role in them.”

 _Oh_. Marinette blinked, blurting out the first thing that popped into her mind, “I'd be offended if I wasn't.”

His laugh was low, breathy, and absolutely sinful to listen to. Although her cheeks were warm previously, her ears were soon flooded with uncomfortable warmth, and she ran a hand through her hair in frustration at how _eloquent_ she could be at times. Yes, it was strikingly easy to attempt to prompt him to continue that specific side of their relationship—

“Crap, hang on,” he said suddenly, voice louder than before. There was a flurry of noises, scraping and other such things, as he fiddled around before providing an explanation. After there was fumbling that caused her to wince, Adrien sighed audibly to announce to return. “I spilled water on my shirt, so I got changed quickly.”

Well, that wasn't what she was expecting. A laugh escaped before she could contain it, and she choked out, “Is this where I ask what you're wearing?”

There was no noise of surprise, nor disgust (though there was thoroughly unlikely as it was), and the responding laugh was as wonderful to hear as always. “I thought I was supposed to be the one seducing you?” Adrien questioned, cutting himself off afterwards to clear his throat. “Well, I'll tell you if you tell me, too.”

“I don't think this is how it usually goes,” she pointed out, cheeks hurting from smiling.

“You're right.”

She blinked.

“Let's see...” Adrien hummed, taking his time to fill the silence as she wondered where he was going to bring their conversation to. It was teetering on the edge of teasing, and it was completely up to him whether he wanted to pursue a different direction to usual (she had to qualms about it, just more than a few nerves). “What if I told you I saved that picture of you in the sweater?”

Heart hammering loudly in her chest, pulse spiking from the words, Marinette bit the inside of her cheek from retorting the first thing that popped into her mind. If they were really going to do—do _this_ , then she needed to keep calm, if that was possible. The picture—the damn picture—that she'd sent back before she'd known it was him, the one that she'd been hesitant to send, was the one in question. “Then I'd reply that I had no bra on.”

He choked. There was no other way to describe the noise, and she covered her mouth with her hand to smother the laugher that desperately wanted to escape.

The reaction caused courage to swell within her chest; just knowing that such a small detail, practically insignificant to her, had resulted in his lack of breath for a moment was an utter compliment. “I don't have one on now, too.”

“... _Marinette_ ,” he breathed, sounding ever-so-flustered.

Squashing the urge to press her face further into the pillow, she whispered, “Yes?”

“I already knocked over something because of you.” Because of _her_? All she'd done was respond to his usual silly flirting— _oh_. She'd responded verbally, for once, and that was what was different. Trying to imagine him with that bright smile across his lips, uttering the flirtatious words before becoming flustered and clumsy was amusing, and still complimentary. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

Her lips quivered from trying not to laugh. “No, not at all,” Marinette replied, attempting to sound innocent. “I'm just slowly telling you what I'm wearing.” Or, rather, what she wasn't.

“I—” Adrien cleared his throat, and her smile grew. “I'm ready to sleep?”

The phrasing combined with how confused he sounded caused the fondness she felt for him to grow. He was just as utterly lost as she was, and that was reassuring in many ways. “Very specific,” she teased, smiling widely.

Laughing softly, he said, “I don't think we're very good at this.”

“We?” Marinette parroted, voice intentionally dramatic. “I think you'll find the fault is all on you.”

“Definitely—it's not like all you said was that you're not wearing a bra.” The grin was clear in his voice, and it only made her smiler wider. He was so utterly endearing, and that fact that even though they'd failed miserably at such a spontaneous attempt hadn't caused him to feel offended was wonderful. “I think we should probably go on a date first.”

With a warm face, drooping eyes from tiredness, and cheeks hurting from sheer fondness, Marinette murmured, “We've already been on one.”

The choice had been there before—Adrien had offered her to decide whether their time at the fair had been a date, and it had been completely up to her. It was when he didn't know, and she'd been tentative and confused, but now that her feelings were sorted out and completely in the right place, she'd made the decision.

“Well,” he whispered, and she could picture him grinning, “are you free on Friday?”

“I am,” she mumbled, pondering where they were going to go—it was rare that they'd been allowed such time together in public as they had, without reporters or other such individuals had noticed his presence. Perhaps they would have to stay secluded within walls, much like Alya and Nino had for theirs. “Are you going to tell me this time?”

He laughed. The noise was fond, warming, and infectious so she found herself laughing quietly right back, even though she really wanted to whack his shoulder for withholding the information constantly. “It'll be a surprise,” Adrien said instead. He didn't need prompting to continue. “Make sure your weekend is free, okay? I'll handle the details, but I can probably reject any work so I'm all yours.”

“You're presuming too much,” Marinette said, huffing. “What if I was busy? I'm practically a celebrity as well, you know.”

The words had be meant as a joke. “When you're ready to come out as Lady, I'd be happy to be your date.”

It would happen one day, but not in the immediate future. Preferably, she would've liked to have finished university so it didn't collide with her schedule, and if the television series was successful and included her part in the opening, she was sure there was going to be a few offers more than usual in the upcoming months. The _Ladyblog_ had never meant to take over her life, and she never thought that she'd be selling her designs using the name—well, profiting from toying around with lingerie and selling them—and becoming known because of it as well. The titbit of information would look ravishing on her résumé, she knew.

“That's a nice offer,” she replied quietly, an uncomfortable feeling churning in her stomach—nerves, she realised quickly. “You might be bored of me by then, though.”

He didn't laugh. “And how do I know you won't be bored of me?” Adrien asked instead.

She blinked.

“For all I know, you could—it might take some time, but eventually the poster of me on your wall will take my place in your heart, and I'll be left behind, utterly depressed,” the blond continued. Her eyes grew wide at his words, wanting to swear from the casual mention, and also feeling the need to hit him once more for the lack of confidence his words were showing. If anything, their relationship was teetering because of her—her status, her hesitance, and her confused feelings. They weren't misplaced any longer, though. She wasn't trying to push her fondness onto another face, and the one she knew, the male who spoke teasingly on the cell phone to her almost every night, was the one that deserved them.

“But I like you,” she found herself saying.

There was a pause. He didn't make a noise of surprise, nor choke as he did from her previous blurted sentence. Instead, he took the time to think about his answer, and she was gnawing on her lower lip savagely and not quite regretting the decision; if she'd have said love, then that would've been premature and impulsive.

He breathed. “I like you, too.”

Clearing her throat, Marinette stumbled over her words, “I—a— _I'm_ glad?”

“Now will you tell me what you're wearing?” Adrien requested, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

Of course, their serious moment couldn't last long. She laughed, freely and openly, well aware that she'd perhaps awoken her room-mates from the sudden noise. With her face warm from the guffaws and his words, Marinette choked out, “A t-shirt from a band I like.”

“Are yo—” Adrien cut himself off to clear his throat, and she raised her eyebrows at how shocked he'd sounded. “ _I_ —it sounds like you're not wearing underwear.”

“I am,” the dark-haired female replied, lips trembling from trying not to laugh. “It's winter, after all. I wouldn't want to freeze in my own bed, especially when there's no one here to warm me.” It had blurted out, and it was a sentence that was much more suited to coming from his lips, rather than hers. Her heart stuttered in sync with her intake of breaths, and as she was greeted by stunned silence—as she was sure that he wasn't taken aback—she chose to break it herself. “Please, forget about that. I'm already thoroughly embarrassed enough as it is.”

When he spoke, his voice was lower than before, and it sent shivers through her body, right to where her pulse had relocated to beneath her abdomen. “You're right.” She took in a deep breath as he took his time to say, “The fault is completely on my end. I think that's one of the most attractive things I've heard you say so far.”

Despite wanting to press her face into her pillow and suffocate for a few moments, Marinette grinned. “You're not helping my embarrassment.”

“Well, _you're_ not helping my current predicament,” he retorted. “All I can think about is that you've probably been scantily clad on the phone before without telling me.”

A noise that was a mix between a gasp and a squeak escaped, and she ran a hand through her hair and gripped at the roots tightly. “Y- _you_ —” Marinette spluttered, blinking her wide eyes.

“Me?” Adrien questioned, sounding mischievous. “Oh, what am _I_ wearing? Just my underwear, actually, so I'm beating you.”

Her response was a strangled noise. Her pulse sounded thunderously within her head, demanding attention and time from below, and she shifted her legs in a half-hearted attempt for friction. “ _A-Adrien_ ,” the dark-haired female whispered, voice sounding breathier than usual from feeling flushed.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, voice shaking from holding in his laughter. “I'll behave, if you want me to.”

It was nice knowing that he was seeking her permission, even for such a thing as their flirtatious word over a call. She imagined that if she said it made her uncomfortable—although that wasn't true, not at all—he would've stopped without any qualms. There was a quality to him that was charming, sweet, and it was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was about him; there wasn't many negatives that she could conjure within her mind while thinking about him. Her closed off heart that had never quite thawed during her fleeting dates during the years was warmed, happy, from their interactions, and she had no complaints about it; rather, she couldn't think of anyone better that she could've opened up to.

So, she found herself voicing her thoughts without meaning to. “Can I kiss you?” Marinette blurted, taking in a sharp breath afterwards.

She could hear him breathing, not quite answering straight away. The nerves in her stomach churned restlessly. “I can't tell if this is awkward dirty talk, or if you're talking about in the future—yes to both, though.”

“I—are you sure?” she whispered, eyebrows knitted together.

“Well, I've already told you I like you, right?” Adrien replied rhetorically. “Therefore, I see no problem with it; I wasn't going to kiss you first until I was sure about your feelings, just in case you pushed me away with harsh words.” And if it hadn't been clear before, then the smile in his voice was shining brightly (as bright as his teeth, she was sure). “I'm not sure where this has come from, but I really do like _you_ , Marinette.”

Adrien, alone, in his underwear while confessing his feelings for her was more than enough to cause her to open and close her mouth repeatedly, unsure how to reply correctly. There were too many images swirling in her head—where was he? Was he _alone_? No, that one was ridiculous; of course he was alone, he wasn't going to strut around with a predicament while on the cell phone for others to see. Her face was flushed, thoughts were running wild, and her cheeks hurt from smiling far too much from his words.

And he continued to say, “I won't push you for it, okay?”

He was too _kind_.

Fumbling with her cell phone, Marinette sat up and pushed the hair from her face. “A— _I..._ I'm tired, night!” With panicking fingers that were slightly damp, she took long enough to disconnect the call to hear him faintly laughing from the other end. Her hand was placed over her rapidly beating heart, taking in deep breaths and attempting to calm down while playing the conversation over again in her head.

It was official from her flushed skin, where her pulse was located, along with the damp underwear that was a beacon for how much she'd enjoyed their talk; she was smitten with him, and those feelings were reciprocated.

The cell phone was discarded onto her mattress, forgotten, as she shifted out of her underwear and changed into a new pair while blushing. The confession was enough for that evening; exploring her body, too, was far too soon—as he'd said, perhaps they needed to go on a date first. After she'd shivered from the new cold material on her, noticed how late it was from her clock, Marinette jumped in surprise when the tinkling of bells indicated that she'd received a new message.

When she opened it, she almost dropped the cell phone from sheer surprise.

She should've expected it—naturally, Adrien was photogenic from his career, so it shouldn't have surprised her how attractive his self-taken pictures were, too. And yet, there he was in _most_ of his glory within her illuminated screen, showing his upper-half from above his navel, proving that he was telling the truth in their conversation earlier. Biting into her lower lip, her eyes travelled across the skin that was shown; the curves and dips, the bright smile on his lips, along with the wink that he was showing. It was simply him showing what he was good at, and knowing that it was for _her_ , not for his followers or for career, was causing her pulse to stutter once again.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _Sweet dreams, princess._ '

She wanted to throttle him as much as she yearned to embrace him.

-x-

“So,” Aurore remarked suddenly as they waited in the coffee-shop queue, “I've got some major news to tell you, but I don't want you to judge me.”

They had been waiting outside the door for a few minutes before shuffling inside, cheeks flushed from the harsh weather, and chattering about the most random of topics until they were pondering their orders. The coffee-shop had expanded their usual variety, trying different sweet-flavoured coffees that were quite adventurous. At first, the blonde—who's hair was piled upon her head in a braided bun, apart from thin ringlets framing her face—had congratulated her on the internship being successful, before she'd uttered that it was simply unfair that it had ended without so much as a consolation prize of sorts.

“Shoot,” Marinette responded, craning her neck to see how many were in front of them.

Wrinkling her slightly upturned nose, Aurore shook her head. “Too many ears to hear my shame right now—I'll say when we've sat down.”

“Sure,” she agreed, shuffling along as they moved forward. “I'll be expecting some juicy details, then. If they're good, I'll tell you something equally great.”

Aurore was nice. She could have been considered a socialite, even with his small career of being on television as a child, and despite the money that her family owned, she didn't allow it to go to her head. She was a genuinely kind friend, whose mischievous side could get her in trouble at times, but that didn't mean that Marinette didn't trust her. If there was one close friend that she was going to come clean about the blog and the upcoming television show appearance, then it would've been her. She'd been considering whether to confess her worries to another friend for some time, and although she wasn't too close to Nathaniel, he was surely the one that would've understood the most, however unavailable he was.

After they'd collected their coffees, in mugs as taking their time to enjoy the break before their next class, Marinette settled down against the squishy seat and revelled in how comfortable it was. As popular as the coffee-shop was, the orders were mostly to-go as they were from busy students, eager to get a caffeine fix before rushing to their next class.

Aurore played with the foam on top of her drink, staring at it as she blurted, “I might've sucked Kim off.”

She was glad she wasn't drinking. Still, despite the lack of liquid, Marinette spluttered and choked from the sudden information. “ _What_?” she questioned incredulously, louder than intended. In a slightly more hushed voice, Marinette enquired, “ _Why_? You said you weren't interested in him like that!”

“It was a mistake!” Aurore replied hotly, cheeks dusted pink. “I wasn't thinking straight, okay? We bumped into each other and talked for a bit, and it was... nice. It was _really_ nice, okay?”

She pursed her lips. “And then you rid him of his clothing and...?”

“It didn't happen like that!” the blonde defended, looking up from her drink to narrow her cerulean eyes. “It's all that stupid article's fault.”

“Article?” Marinette parroted, blinking. “Wait, _you're_ in an article? Why didn't you tell me sooner?”

With a scowl, Aurore started searching through her bag, much to the dark-haired female's amusement. When she'd asked to see the magazine, she'd expected to be sent an address to type into a browser, not for a physical copy to be shoved into her hands some minutes later. Aurore adamantly refused to look at her, instead fiddling with her mug once again, and Marinette looked at the cover with wide, confused, eyes. It was a simply television magazine, one that featured different topics of what was airing on television that week. It wasn't anything special, so when she flicked through and found a section from Aurore's old show, that had been finished for over a good decade, she'd been baffled when it stated that there was going to be a reboot.

“This— _this_ is great, Aurore!” And it was. The previous actors had been contacted for a series next year, and the half-page article had images of the main characters as they were before and how they looked now; the largest picture was of Aurore, and it was a beautiful image that couldn't quite hold a candle to how stunning she looked in person. “What exactly did this do wrong, then? I don't know what you had planned for the future, but I imagine that this would be something you're interested in.”

Aurore frowned, looking up from her drink. “It made Kim want to get to know me again, I guess—I mean, maybe that's not why he did? I don't _know_. All I know is that I signed on for the show, this was published, and then we bumped into each other and he congratulated me for it. That's why we started talking properly, because he seemed so genuine.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, mulling over the information given. “Maybe it's the article's fault, but what happened between you two? You said you didn't suddenly jump him, and that you were actually talking, so what happened?”

A voice interrupted them before she could continue. “Hey,” they said, a shadow casting over their table, “mind if I join?”

Chloé, with her straw-coloured hair in delicate waves, was grinning openly as she cradled a mug to her chest. She wasn't showing the open indifference as always, and Marinette simply raised her eyebrows in a gesture showing that she didn't mind when Aurore shot her a sharp look.

“Sure,” Aurore exclaimed, hand waving to the free seat beside them. “You can share in my woes as well.”

“Oh, excellent.” Chloé grinned, showing the whites of her teeth as she settled down. “What's going on, then? I hope it's something juicy rather than simply failing a test.” And after that was said, the blonde looked towards Marinette, acknowledging her presence with a nod of her head.

She wanted to gape, point out that she'd never received such a civil greeting, but instead she simply blinked and returned the gesture with muted bemusement. It was strange, really; she had always been told by Aurore that Chloé was simply spoiled and a bit misunderstood, and she'd relayed that message whenever her friends had complained about their encounters with her. They had never been quite civil to each other—the sharp comment about her twin-tails in their first year had stung—but there wasn't open animosity that caused arguments or other such things. It was simply a relationship of putting up with each other, and occasionally snapping when the time was right.

“It's about Kim.”

Chloé snorted. “He didn't propose again, did he?”

The smirk across Aurore's lips was a nice change from the frowns. “No, thankfully. We bumped into each other a few days ago, and we—we got a tad intimate.”

Marinette stifled a laugh. “If that's what you want to call it.”

“Fine!” the blonde snapped, narrowing her bright eyes at her. “I sucked him off, are you happy now? He suddenly kissed me, and I didn't push him away—I'm an _idiot_.”

“Okay...” Chloé trailed off, knitting her golden eyebrows together. “What's the problem, then? Because unless he was unable to perform correctly, I can't really see the issue.”

The words, along with the fact of _who_ they came from, caused Marinette to burst into spontaneous laughter. From seeing Aurore's reaction—crossing her arms stubbornly beneath her bosom, frowning openly with twitching lips from trying not to giggle—it caused her volume to increase, and before long Chloé had laughed, too, which caused her to guffaw even more so. There she was, openly enjoying a comment that had came from someone she'd been indifferent to for so long, and there was no feeling of dislike in the air around them.

Aurore released a loud breath, blowing the curly strands from her face. “The problem, along with being an idiot and going along with the mood, is that I had some gum before I did it— _mint_ gum.”

“I'm so sorry, and then I'm not,” Marinette stuttered, eyes becoming wet from trying not to laugh again. “Y- _you—_ ”

“Did he scream?” Chloé asked, eyes comically wide along with her smile. “I wish I could've heard it!”

And at that, she really did laugh. Aurore groaned, face falling into her open hands and making noises of disappointment under her breath, all while mumbling about how much of an idiot she was. Her cheeks were pink from embarrassment, and Chloé's expression was much the same as Marinette's; unashamed and amused, despite the blonde's dramatic distress.

Marinette reached forward, poking the moaning girl in the shoulder. “I'm assuming you want to throw a party so you can drink your woes, then.”

“I do,” she replied, grumbling still. “Are you free on Friday?”

Adrien had asked much the same question, and the reminder of how upcoming encounter caused a smile to slip onto her expression. Thankfully, there was no warmth sprouting along her cheeks, and she was glad that her affections weren't showing freely.

“No,” Marinette said, shaking her head. “It's my first weekend since my internship, so I'm already booked up.”

Knitting her eyebrows together, Aurore dropped her hands and looked at her with wide eyes, a pleading expression that looked thoroughly out of place from her mature appearance. “ _Marinette_ ,” she complained, a whining quality to her voice. “This is my time of need!”

Surprisingly, it was Chloé that replied first. “And you have more friends than just Marinette over there. Aren't you going to ask whether I'm free?” she drawled lazily, stirring her beverage with her fingertip. “I'm offended, Aurore.”

“Hush.” Aurore wrinkled her nose, shooting the other blonde a scowl. “You know you're invited anyway—we live in the same building.”

“You have Sabrina to invite, too,” Marinette pointed out, wondering whether she'd actually seen the red-head at any of the events she'd been invited to. Although she had been present when they enjoyed a tense night together previously, she couldn't recall her at any of Aurore's parties, and certainly not Chloé's. When it was said that Sabrina didn't attend outings often, it hadn't been an exaggeration. “If you can pull her away from her studies, I think.”

Chloé hummed, raising her fingertip to her mouth and licking the foam off. “Miss Raincomprix will only come if her parents persuade her to.”

She blinked. “Aren't you friends?”

The smile across the blonde's lips wasn't sincere; it didn't reach her sapphire-coloured eyes or show her bright teeth. “As close as we can be, I guess. It's a bit hard to be friends with someone who's more interested in books than you.” She never thought the day would come where she would feel genuine sadness for Chloé, and yet, it had. Marinette was unsure of how to comfort her, and therefore spoke no words of condolences, and instead looked at Aurore for some sort of guidance. On their strange night together, where the three of them and Sabrina had been together, there had been no sign of the strained relationship that was being hinted at. “I'm just being dramatic,” Chloé said suddenly, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture quickly. “At least I didn't do something intimate after chewing gum.”

“Fuck off!” Aurore groaned.

Their conversation after that was light, slightly teasing, and genuinely enjoyable and made her quite confused towards the end. Chloé hadn't snapped at her for quite a while, and when they'd collected their things to start their trek back to the university, Aurore excused herself to the bathroom quickly, leaving the two of them standing there, looking at each other with neutral expressions.

Chloé was the one to break the silence. “Don't hurt him.”

She blinked, surprised. “Pardon?”

Tapping her foot against the floor, in what could've been classed as a nervous action, Chloé licked her lips before clarifying herself. “Adrien—if you're just playing with him, I'd like you to stop now.”

This was Chloé, but not the one that she'd been around for over a year. This was the blonde that had grown up being friends with him, somehow, and showing her fondness and protectiveness in such a way that could have been considered endearing. She wasn't threatening, no, and her words weren't laced with venom; she was simply concerned for her friend in her own way, and that brought a smile to her lips despite the blonde's frown.

“I'm not playing with him,” she replied softly, attempting to convey her feelings. “I wouldn't do that.”

A stiff nod was the first response. “Good,” Chloé said, looking at her with a neutral expression. “Enjoy your date on Friday.”

And with that, she turned of her heel and exited the coffee-shop, leaving a gaping Marinette behind who was still waiting for the blonde to emerge from the bathroom. There were questions of where Chloé had wandered off to after, and Marinette wasn't quite sure how to respond to them so she shrugged and said that she ran to class. Either Chloé was excellent at guessing, or Adrien had confessed to her about their upcoming date and hadn't anticipated the confrontation.

She was glad he had friends looking out for him.

-x-

As the week continued, Rose settled back into their old routine. Originally she had a problem with wanting to shower while someone else was taking up the bathroom, but that was soon remedied when she remembered they had a schedule of sorts. Alya was positively beaming most of the time, scuttling to her room when her cell phone rang and being secretive, and it had only taken a few days for Rose to notice that something was wrong. While they were eating dinner one evening, when the red-head had beamed and left the room while a steady beat played from her device, Rose had turned to her with a perplexed expression and asked whether her company paled in comparison to the caller.

They weren't telling her yet. She had spoken to Alya when the blonde was away, attempting to think of how to approach the subject carefully, but that was quickly ruined when Rose's fanatic cheers were loud and very vocal when it was announced when the special episode that Nino was in was being aired. Marinette had blinked, utterly surprised that it was so soon, before realising it was going to be shown on the upcoming Thursday.

The news spread that Nino was going to have a live webcast as the episode aired. Adrien informed her that he would be joining, too, since he was in the episode as well. They were going to be around Nino's apartment, much like the first time, and the sheer excitement that the blonde-haired female was exuding from hearing the news was quite overpowering. Since she'd back, Rose had made sure to go over the news that she'd missed from her brief vacation, and had tried to react accordingly to them.

“Aren't you going to go join your friends?” Adrien asked, sounding amused. “I'll leave and go join Nino, too.”

There was still ten minutes to go. “I want a few more minutes with you, actually,” she replied, cheeks warming. “Is that too much to ask for?”

It was going to be just the three of them. It was going to be different that time, though. Different for Alya, as Marinette was sure her reactions were going to be defensive or she was going to grow... discontent with how the blonde reacted to him (much as Marinette had done so herself, back when the poster was by the front door). There was going to be some untouched tension, and _something_ had to go wrong eventually—it was just a matter of who for.

“And what if Nino comes in here and airs our conversation for everyone to hear?” he mused.

She blinked. “Then I'll deny it. I doubt he's capable of carrying the camera and microphone all the way to another room.” There was a high-pitched noise that certainly didn't belong to him, and from the breathy laughter that escaped him, she caught on who the intruder was. “Is that Plagg?”

“Yes,” Adrien confirmed as there was rustling on the other end. She tried to imagine what the were doing—was he leaning down, petting him? “Our alone time is doomed already.”

Grinning, she could hear the noises from the feline clearly. “I guess I can share you with him.”

“He wouldn't have it any other way,” the blond replied grumpily. There was a high-pitched whine in return, and Adrien muttered something under his breath to the feline that she couldn't quite catch. Hearing him attempt to converse with him, even in muffled tones, was endearing to hear, and caused her to smile wide in wonder of how they usually interacted. “So, am I allowed to ask what you're wearing today?”

Almost choking in surprise, Marinette stuttered, “I-it's not even _night_!”

“That can be sexual, if you want it to be,” he mused, voice shaking from restrained laughter. “I was only asking because you're going to see me in a few minutes, aren't you? It's hardly fair since I can't see you.”

That made more sense than her assumption. Despite the fact they'd only ventured into those sort of calls once, she was still shy about the mention of them. With warmed cheeks, Marinette retorted, “You're awfully cocky, aren't you?”

She should've seen it coming and prevented the upcoming comment of, “Wouldn't you like to find out?”

Marinette looked scandalised for a moment before blowing air into her cheeks, scowling. “And with that, good- _bye_.”

“Marinette!” Adrien called loudly, laughing. “I'm sorry, please stay?”

He wasn't sincere, not at all, and she still rolled her eyes. If it wasn't for the time, she would've happily stayed and continued to talk with him. It was one of the rare calls that wasn't to wish her a good sleep, and it was well before the sun had set, too. “It's time to leave and greet your audience, I'm afraid. I think Nino's probably started already—he'll start shouting for you soon.” From the muffled noise she could hear outside, it seemed that her assumption was correct. “I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Marinette,” he called again.

And she blinked, holding her tongue.

“I'd still like to hear what you're wearing later.”

Breathing out loudly, Marinette disconnected the call and ruffled her hair, allowing it to fall freely beneath her collarbones. It had grown out during her busy weeks, bangs long enough to be swept to the side as they poked her eyes if left normally, and she needed to consider a haircut soon. She wasn't looking forward to awkwardly growing the bangs and having them look thoroughly out of place by the length, nor the hassle of long hair that went down her back. Unless she dipped into the money they'd earned from the _Ladyblog_ , or waited for her next allowance, then she could perhaps attempt to see whether Mylène was available to do hers (since Rose's had only looked like a disaster during, and the end result was quite okay).

She was right. Rose's laptop was open, screen illuminated and showing a grinning Nino who was relaxed into his living room's sofa, fingers tapping along his fabric-clad knees as he waited for viewers to come. There was still a few minutes until the episode came on, and it seemed that was all that the blonde was interesting in; they didn't own a television because of the money they'd have to spend for a license, and they couldn't view the episode separately at the same time without signing up with a specific website that was too much hassle. So, they were going to simply deal with watching whatever scene the tanned male was going to show them.

“Almost there,” Nino commented, stretching his arms above his head. “I'll answer questions afterwards, okay? Just from chat, though, as I can't be bothered to flick through lots of sites.”

Rose clapped her hands together.

The laptop was positioned on the tiny island that functioned as a table, and the duo were sat around on the seats that weren't very comfortable after a long time. Moving to stand beside Alya, Marinette flashed her a smile before pulling her up by the hand, placing a finger to her lips in the gesture to be quiet.

Alya raised an eyebrow curiously.

Marinette simply grinned and held up her cell phone, illuminating the screen before selecting the camera. Placing her cheek against her friend's, she took a picture quickly that would simply have to do, as Rose made a noise of excitement as the time flickered and changed.

The image wasn't blurry, thankfully. It was just the two of them squished together, wild hair blending into each other, and smiling at the camera without the confusion from the sudden movement showing. It showed their upper-halves, specifically the red-coloured shirt that was Marinette was wearing, along with her short necklace, and Alya's bright t-shirt. Loading up her conversation with Adrien, she waited for the image to attach and send while focusing on the screen in front of them and settling herself into a seat.

“That took you a while,” Nino remarked, scooting along and making room on the large sofa despite the amount of space left. “Did you get distracted?”

Alya danced around the kitchen, placing carbonated drinks in glasses in front of each of them—she was clearly busying herself, and Marinette bit her lip to restrain from commenting on how frazzled her friend's appearance looked. She was unsure how to react, that was for sure, and simply sat there staring at a male that she'd become intimate with was causing her to behave strangely. It wasn't as though Marinette could coach her there—she hadn't exactly sent a lot of sexual messages or pictures to Adrien to know from experience what to do. If anything, Alya was the experienced one of the two of them.

And then, Adrien's footsteps were heard through the mic, being the only sound as he approached, until there were the tell-tale high-pitched noises that she'd heard upon the her cell phone only a few minutes prior. Plagg ran in first, jumping upon the couch and making a loud noise at Nino before turning around and pointedly looking at the approaching figure. Adrien appeared, clad in dark-stained jeans that hugged his figure, and settled himself down on the sofa. Plagg soon pawed at the material of his white t-shirt, dark paws standing out against the fabric's colour.

Adrien grinned, a hand petting the feline's head fondly. “Sorry, I was distracted on the phone.”

She could feel Alya's enquiring gaze, but she didn't turn towards her.

Nino raised his eyebrows, letting them be seen from beneath his thick-rimmed spectacles. “We'll talk about this _after—_ the show's starting now.”

Whether he meant after the show or the webcast had ended, it wasn't clarified. Nino had had someone else set up the program for him previously, so he was able to show the episode in a small box in the corner while the two of them were shown during it. It was a light-hearted episode, and their acting was up to par with the usual actors that were featured. Although it was one of Adrien's first appearances on television where it wasn't an interview, he did surprisingly well. It wasn't obvious that he wasn't experienced, and he stood his count beside his long-time actor cousin without any worries. They commented throughout the episode, noting what happened behind the scenes at times, and mocking each other's performance when the time called for it. Marinette had a soft smile on her lips throughout it, and her eyes were flickering between the box for the show to Adrien most of the time. Plagg was playing around the back of the sofa, jumping up occasionally to stand on the blond's shoulder before falling down and starting again.

“Well... I hope it's not a flop,” Nino drawled, running a hand through his curly hair. “It was fun to film anyway.”

Adrien made a noise of agreement, attention mostly on the cat as he rubbed beneath Plagg's chin. He was smiling softly, showing his dimples despite the distance from the camera. “Let me guess, we're answering questions again?”

Grinning, Nino poked him in the shoulder before retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. “You know it—let me just load the chat on here so we can pick some.”

Cell phones. Marinette stared down at hers, still clasped in her hand without having sent the message. She bit her lip before pressing the button, placing the device onto the countertop afterwards and focusing on the screen.

There was a noise, and it certainly wasn't what she had expected. While Nino had an upbeat song to indicate his messages, Adrien's was a soft melody that was from a piano piece. He looked surprised, visibly blinking and looking baffled for a moment, before retrieving his cell phone and looking at the screen.

His dimples showed again as he smiled, bright teeth on display as he looked. Marinette felt herself smiling, too, and when Alya looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, she lifted her cell phone up and shook it gently, hopefully conveying the meaning without explaining aloud. When Adrien leaned over, scaring Plagg from his shoulder, and showed the device to Nino, too, she couldn't say she was surprised to see that he grinned as well.

Alya's smile was soft, gentle, and almost _shy_. It was one that wasn't quite suited to the loud and boisterous girl, but it was endearing to see nonetheless. She supposed that was how she looked most of the time when conversing with Adrien, though.

Adrien's cell phone was hidden away again, and Nino had selected the first question. Clearing his throat, the tanned male enquired, “Got a girlfriend yet, Adrien?”

He didn't read the pseudonym—that's what they usually did when selecting the questions. “Not yet,” the blond replied, raising an eyebrow and looking at him pointedly, “but that might change soon—what about _you_?”

“Yes.” He grinned, fingertip pushing his spectacles further up his nose. “I asked her last night.”

Marinette blinked.

Beside her, Alya shifted, not speaking aloud and giving her reaction away, while Rose openly gaped and said loudly, “ _What_? I— _no_.”

It was the reaction that they had been expecting. The red-head was the first to respond, turning to look at the gaping female and ask, “Why no?”

“I—” Rose cut herself off, facial features scrunching up as she looked at Marinette briefly. “No—nothing. I didn't say anything.”

And that was what they hadn't predicted. Marinette looked baffled for a moment, simply staring at her friend who was adamantly looking at the laptop screen, cheeks tinged a light rose, and there was a swell of pride within her chest. Her friend, the one who'd hopelessly had a crush on a celebrity that she'd never met, was perhaps maturing and realising the faults of her naïve infatuation with him, and maybe realising that it wasn't real at all—that it was one-sided, and purely on her part. And even though she knew it would come with sadness, it's what she _wanted_ for her.

“Are you sure?” Marinette asked softly, noticing that Alya had grew tense beside her, not answering. “It's okay, Rose.” It wasn't, but maybe it would be in the future.

Rose ran a hand through her hair, wet-looking eyes staring ahead. “Yes. I'm sure.”

She didn't make a noise of excitement during the rest of the webcast, and when it was over, she excused herself and took her laptop away into her bedroom for the evening. Alya was sat there, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and Marinette mirrored her expression—for they had seen a withdrawn Rose, one that wasn't very common, and the one thing that could always cheer her up had resulted in the melancholic mood.

Then again, growing up was always painful.

_PREVIEW: “Because he's yours, okay! And I'd kill to have her look at me like that!”_


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content ahead! We're finally getting there, friends. Thank you for all the reviews, I really appreciate them! If anyone's interested, I'd be glad to take one-shot prompts via PMs or tumblr (xiueryn).

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

Resuming classes on a Friday was quite different. She didn't have to worry about her clothing too much, was able to sleep in with her face pushed firmly into her pillows for a good half an hour or so, and she was able to walk with Alya in the morning. Rose had been shut away in her bedroom—which was fine, she didn't have an early class—but that didn't stop the two friends from murmuring their worries about the blonde. It was a monumental step that she'd realised her love was pure and child-like, along with one-sided, and they quietly agreed that breaking the news that Nino's girlfriend was actually her own friend needed to wait until she'd matured further. It wasn't as though Rose was an immature person; she had a bright personality, a wonderful smile and was genuinely caring. Sometimes she jumped to conclusions, or held grudges for more than needed, but she was still a nice person. The only part that Marinette had been uncomfortable with about her best friend was her obsession with Nino, and it seemed that was finally waning.

“I wouldn't be surprised if she's throwing out his posters in protest now,” the dark-haired female mused, adjusting the knitted hat on her head. “I—I'm happy about this, though. Does that make me a bad person?”

“ _You_ a bad person?” Alya parroted, raising her eyebrows so they were fully visible above the frames of her spectacles. “You're not the one snogging the love of her life.”

She blinked. “More like the only love of her life—she's been obsessed with him before she even had her first period.”

Alya adjusted the straps of her backpack. “I'm... I just hope that she's cool with me after this, you know? I don't think I could take losing her.”

Edging closer, Marinette bumped her shoulder against her friend's lightly. “She knows you'd pick her over a guy in a heartbeat—it's just the matter of who the guy is right now.”

“She's complained about my dates in the past,” the red-head pointed out, frowning, “but has never asked me to _stop_. I—this is probably my first relationship, if you can class it as that. I'm not like you with your long-distance boyfriend that never even had sex with you.” In a sense, that was true. Alya had been a serial dater that never quite made it into a functional relationship, picking at the faults of her dates far too often and moving onto the next person.

“Alya!” she scolded, almost tripping over in the process. “Just because he went to a different school doesn't mean it was long-distance. And we were, well, _fourteen_! Why would I have sex at that age?” Scowling at the other female as they waltzed into their campus, she shuffled away to make distance and prove that she was offended by the comment. “I was lucky if he held my hand on the weekend.”

And with that, Alya muttered her condolences and made a joke at her own expense (saying that she'd be lucky if they held her own hand rather than other parts of her body), and they parted ways for their classes for that day. There weren't any spiteful notes upon her desk, and her class-mates seemed visibly surprised that she was attending lessons, after weeks of being absent. She tentatively explained about the internship, and it proved that some had completely forgotten about it, and then made small conversations with some between classes. She didn't see Rose within the hallways, but she did briefly make a dumb face through the window into Alya's (which caused the professor to call the red-head's name).

On the way home, Marinette picked up a drink from the coffee-shop and walked through the streets slowly. The weather was still harsh despite the fact that it had turned into March, and she idly wondered whether she'd have to dress up warmly for her date that evening.

It was strange to think that it was finally happening. They were going to be going out together with clear intentions—he'd even said that he was fine with her kissing him, which she'd blurted out in a haze of embarrassment—and the reciprocated feelings made her heartbeat pick up considerably. Although he hadn't given any details, she wondered whether he'd factored into the plan that she had classes until the late afternoon.

Fiddling with her cell phone, Marinette gazed at the messages from the previous night and decided to call him.

He answered on the second ring. “Marinette, hey!”

She stifled her laughter. “Hello to you, too. What are you up to?”

“I—not much. What about you?” Adrien replied happily, and she was suspicious about the stumble at the beginning. Rounding a corner, she pursed her lips and waited to see whether he'd elaborate. “Your silence is quite daunting.”

“My class just finished, so I'm walking back to my apartment now,” she said slowly, relying on the warm beverage to heat her cold hands up. “Did you have to work today?”

From the piercing sound that came through the speaker, causing her to flinch briefly, Marinette had to assume that he was outside, and it was the wind that had scared her. “No, I told you I'd clear my schedule for you.” At that Marinette blinked, as she'd assumed that he was kidding, and there was the threat of scheduling their date for a later time. “You should've called me soon, I could've given you a lift.”

She wetted her cold lips. “No, thank you. I have perfectly working legs.”

“I'm trying to be romantic,” the blond pointed out.

“And what if I called you every time I needed a ride?” Marinette retorted, elbows tucked safely into her side for warmth. “I'm capable of carrying an umbrella if it rains, and catching the bus, so I'm completely fine.”

He huffed. “You're hard to please, darling.”

“You can't buy my affections with petrol—or gifts, actually,” she replied, lips wobbling from trying to keep a straight face. “I require tender love and caring.”

Adrien was having much the same problem, and she could hear his voice wavering as he exclaimed, “We're _married_ , what more could you want from me?”

“A ring, clearly.” And as soon as she said it, Marinette realised that he could possibly take her words seriously. “That was a joke, Adrien. A ring would be too expensive, and definitely not worth it for a first date.”

He had the gall to sniff. “I'll have you know this is our second date.”

Remembering the fair, Marinette rolled her eyes. He had said that it was up to her to decide, and despite the fact that she had claimed it to be, there was still the chance that it couldn't have really been classed as one; he had thought that she assumed Chat to be someone else, and their interactions had been cut short from the paparazzi. “Okay, husband,” Marinette sooth, voice much like she would speak to a child, “where are we going today?”

“Well, to start off we're going up to your apartment. You can't wear that outfit for the whole weekend, Marinette.” She stumbled from his words, catching her balance at the last moment, and looked up wildly to see whether the taller male was nearby. There were vehicles parked throughout the street, and when she caught sight of tinted windows and a mop of blond hair that was sticking out above the roof, she narrowed her eyes. “I'm getting awfully cold waiting around for you.”

Making it so her footsteps were loud, Marinette approached and went around the vehicle to see him. Disconnecting their call suddenly and shoving her cell phone into a pocket within her coat, Marinette narrowed her eyes at him. Leaning against a lamppost—that was surely colder than the air around them—with his arms crossed, slightly slouched, and dressed in a chequered shirt that he'd buttoned and dark-washed jeans that had holes riddled upon the knees, she noted that he wasn't dressed for the weather at all. In comparison, her large coat, ankle-high boots, blue jeans and sweater were over the top. Though, from the chattering of her teeth and how both of her hands were clasped around the lukewarm beverage, she supposed that she had been outside longer than him.

“So, were you going to wait all day until I appeared?” Marinette questioned, taking in his side profile as he stared at the building in front of them.

He had been fiddling with his cell phone, most likely wondering why she'd disconnecting the call, and looked up visibly surprised, turning his head fast enough to cause his hair to stand up briefly before falling town against his forehead. His cheeks and the tip of his nose was tinged pink, and the smile that appeared was breathtaking. “Marinette!” Adrien greeted, waving happily and causing her to roll her eyes briefly. “I've been here for about ten minutes, actually.”

Still, that meant that he'd anticipated her classes and had attempted to appear at the right now. He would've been if she'd been able to drive home, though. “You were almost exact,” the dark-haired female praised, a fond smile tugging upon her lips. “Do you want to come up into the warmth and tell me what to bring?”

He blinked. “Sure. Let me just say we'll be back soon.”

After speaking briefly to his chauffeur—who Marinette still couldn't believe escorted him almost everywhere, except from when Nino was in charge of transport—they walked in comfortable silence up to their floor. There were no complaints about the amount of steps, and they narrowly avoided the fan on the fourth-floor, before making it to her apartment. Fishing the keys out of her bag, Marinette looked at him briefly over her shoulder, taking in the bright expression and the kind smile he flashed, that showed his barely there dimples, and shook her head in fondness.

“I'm not sure if anyone's home,” she said, walking through and opening her bedroom door. The coffee was quickly placed onto her desk for the time being, and she gestured to the bed for him to sit down (the chair was worn out and surely not as comfortable, so it was the preferable choice for him). “Where exactly are we going?”

“I'm still not telling,” Adrien confessed, a smug smirk appearing. “I'll return you here safe and sound on Sunday, though.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were kidding about the whole weekend?”

“Please.” He rolled his emerald eyes. “If I'm going to woo you, I need more time than a few hours.”

At the jab at his romantic abilities, Marinette burst into a splutter of laughter. He joined in, too, showing that the comment hadn't been to insult himself from lack of self-confidence. She removed her coat, hanging it upon the back of her door, and enquired, “What am I supposed to pack then? If this is some romantic getaway, I can tell you that's really not a good idea for our second date.”

“I feel like you just want to say my ideas are all terrible,” he mused, leaning back and balancing his hands against the duvet. “We're not going to be sharing a bed, if that's what your concern is. I can assure you that I'm not expecting you to jump into the sheets with me.”

Marinette pondered over the different ideas in her mind, not quite connecting the hints dropped and wondered whether it was another mention from their childhood; the fair had been a hit, after all, so they couldn't have been all bad. At the last comment, Marinette grinned widely and jumped to sit on the mattress beside him, causing the bed to wobble for a moment and for him to almost fall back from losing his balance. She laughed happily at his bewildered expression, seeing visibly when he realised what her actions had meant.

He exhaled in amusement, a noise that was almost a snort, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a friendly gesture. “Why, you tease,” Adrien scolded, pulling her body closer so her shoulder was pressed against his chest. “I never knew you were so forward.”

“Maybe you never said quite the right words to cause me to be,” she uttered, glancing up through her eyelashes for their position. It was a coy move, she knew, and from the growing grin across his lips it seemed that he thought much the same. “As nice as this awkward embrace is, I'd like to know what to pack since you're kidnapping me.”

“I wouldn't call it kidnapping,” the blond murmured, shadows of his golden-tinged eyelashes across his cheeks, where there was also a dusting of colour across (which was not from the weather, and she was sure that hers were much the same, too). “At least five people know where you'll be, so they'll call the police if you're not back in classes next week.”

She blinked. “ _Five_?”

“I might've requested some help.”

From what she knew, he had only asked Chloé. There was also the fact that he was close with Nino, and therefore had Alya as a resource, and that fact that quite daunting. There were countless things that she'd uttered to her friend after disastrous dates during the years, even mumbles during cheesy films, and the idea that Alya had helped at all had her worried more than anything. “Please tell me not from Alya.”

The sheepish smile that he gave didn't much help her there.

They were leaning into each other, body warmth radiating through their layers of clothing, and Marinette gently nudged the tip of her nose against his, tentatively glancing to gauge his reaction; she shouldn't have been surprised that his expression was soft, nor when the arm around her began to trace patterns upon the fabric of her shirt, the action comforting and teasing all at once. She peeked at his parted lips, the reddened cheeks and passionate expression and felt her heart begin to race.

Then, there was the distinctive sound of the front door slamming shut, and Marinette stiffened in surprise. There was half a chance that it was the room-mate that knew of her relationship with Adrien, and then there would be Rose, who would've made a scene and perhaps attempted to coax information out of the blond—though that could've just caused her to look like she'd sucked a lemon from the mention of Nino.

She pulled away quickly, smoothing the material of her clothing and gestured to Adrien with index finger pressed to her lips in the general action to be quiet. Marinette scampered to the open bedroom door and slipped out into the hallway, shutting it behind her to draw the attention of the newcomer. She smiled widely as she saw the surprised expression of her bespectacled friend, and from the mused hair and the warm clothing it was safe to assume that she'd just returned from classes.

“I'm so glad it's you,” Marinette breathed, throwing her arms around her friend and squeezing tightly. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack if it was Rose.”

“Please.” Alya snorted. “I asked her to pick up some food for dinner as I suspected something like this would happen. So, is Adrien waiting outside or is he hiding somewhere in here?” At the blank look she was receiving, the red-head sighed and said, “I hope he's not in the closet.”

Snorting, Marinette replied, “He's on my bed, actually. I'm guessing you really _did_ help him sort this out, so I think it's only right that I get to punch you if anything ridiculous happens.”

The tanned female raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think that lowly of me?” Again, Marinette stared, stoic, as silence filled in the gap in their conversation. Alya looked affronted at first before a fond smile tugged on hers lips, and it was reflected on the dark-haired female's face, too. “I didn't tell him anything embarrassing, well... I spoke to him through Nino, so you can have him to blame,” Alya explained, shrugging her shoulders quickly. “Just don't hit his face, okay?”

And with that out of the way, Alya shoved her along the hallway and back within the bedroom with Marinette spluttering, never quite creating a coherent sentence before the door was shut behind her. The blond upon her bed was visibly holding back laughter from their interaction—and had most likely heard snippets of their conversation—so she rolled her eyes, welcoming the reddened cheeks of embarrassment. After selecting a denim backpack that had pink flowers stitched into it, Marinette selected two different outfits to wear after being told to be comfortable and casual (away from the spotlight were his exact words, though), and her curiosity was nagging at her to predict where they were going.

She shuffled into the bathroom to change into a cleaner dark-washed jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, making sure to fluff her hair and admire the lack of bags underneath her eyes for that day. Adrien was visibly excited for their outing, so after she'd put her coat on and was holding her knitted scarf, he stood up and wrapped it around her neck loosely for her. Thanking him with a mumble, Adrien took her hand softly in his—with warm skin, surely from sitting down upon the duvet with his hands downwards—and tugged her outside to their ride.

While the leather seats were cold at first, Marinette settled down with her bag between her feet. Adrien kept his hand lightly wrapped around hers—not too tight, nor clammy—and tapped his fingers of his other hand against the handle of the door, looking through the window instead of her face. He probably caught glimpses of her reflection in the tinted glass, though. There was quiet, classical music playing throughout their ride, and whenever she questioned where they were going, he never gave a direct answer.

“Somewhere special,” he said once.

Marinette had scoffed.

After she mentioned that it was getting late, the sky becoming stained and darkened and the lampposts were lighting up, Adrien mentioned that he was simply dropping her off somewhere for the evening; meaning, he wasn't going with her. At that she furrowed her eyebrows, confused, before the shaded surroundings through the windows started to become clear. When the vehicle lulled to a stop, not from traffic, she squeezed his hand and murmured her confusion, “You're not here to ask my father's permission, are you?”

He barked a laugh. “Definitely not. I'll go somewhere for the night, so enjoy yourself, okay?” Adrien said, thumb caressing the back of her hand softly. “Call me when you wake up and we'll go on our date.”

Her gaze shifted between his sincere expression—the fond gaze, eyelashes obscuring her view of his emerald eyes, and the dimples upon his cheeks—and the pâtisserie that had the lights out, no longer open for the public as the late hour meant it was past closing time. Her parents were sure to be having a private dinner before they went to bed, ready to prepare for work early the next morning. This was what his plan was, then; woo her with sincerity and surprising her at every turn.

Still, she had to make sure. “You're really not going to ask him, right?”

His grin was wolfish. “No. I think I'll save that for our third marriage.”

Placing her bag straps upon her shoulders and holding the door handle, Marinette blurted, “If tomorrow goes well, you'll probably be demoted to boyfriend.” And after realising what she'd said, she quickly ducked her head and murmured a farewell, escaping through the car door and trying to block out the burst of laughter that followed from her words. She ran to the doorway, selecting the key to get inside and waved briefly at the tinted windows where she knew he would be, no doubt smiling at her fumble.

That night, he continued the tradition and wished her a nice sleep in their call.

-x-

Her parents had already been asleep when she'd entered the house the previous evening, so when she wandered down from the scent of sweet things wafting through the air, her father had dropped a bowl from surprise. There were exclamations of surprise, embraces, and questions of why she was there for quite a while before they prepared breakfast for their tired daughter. Marinette was thankful for their happy attitudes, and tentatively explained that she already had plans for the weekend, so she couldn't help out with the business. With smiles, they explained that they were still increasingly popular because of Nino, and now along with his cousin, and said they still had groups coming in to enquire about the two.

“About that...” Marinette cleared her throat. “The boy that used to wait for me outside wasn't Nino.”

Tom, her broad-shouldered father, looked overly baffled. “Pardon?”

“It was Adrien,” she said quickly, stumbling over a few syllables and feeling her cheeks grow warm. Adamantly staring at her bowl, clutching the spoon too tightly, the dark-haired female continued to say, “I'm sure you've seen the magazines, so there's no need to pretend. They both know about my memory, and Adrien cleared it up for me.”

Wiping his hands slowly on his cut-off apron, Tom mused, “I don't quite remember seeing a mop of blond hair.”

“Me neither,” she joked, earning a glare in return. Holding her hands up briefly in a gesture of surrender, Marinette tentatively explained that Adrien had stayed at his cousin's constantly for tutors and lessons, and sneaked outside to spend time with her as long as he didn't get caught.

Her father was sceptical at first, but accepted the information when Sabine, her mother with exotic-looking features, padded into the room and joined the conversation. They were overjoyed from the details they were given, and even expressed the want to thank Adrien for their popularity lately, and Marinette found herself relieved that the negative mail hadn't reached her parents, too. And with that thought, she stilled, realising that she wouldn't be at the apartment to pick up their mail first. Would Alya notice the sheer amount of it? Would she question why some were bulky, and why they had hateful scribbles on the envelopes at times? The thought had her growing pale, excusing herself to her hidden bedroom on another story to recuperate.

Telling anyone about her problems weren't going to solve them. They would continue, and she considered herself lucky that no one had approached her in the flesh with negative intentions. Mentioning to Adrien that his fans were rude would only make him feel responsible, and she dreaded to think of how he'd respond to that. When the news of Nino's girlfriend had leaked on the webcast, Marinette had scoured the Internet to see whether they'd figured out her friend's identity and breathed a sigh of relief when it was clear that they didn't. If Alya received such mail, too, she was sure that the red-head was going to react violent or post rude comments on social media wherever she could.

She secured the dark tresses around her crown into a ponytail, making sure her bangs that needed to be cut were pulled out, and slipped into a sweater dress that was comfortable for any activity that he had planned (well, except for rock-climbing, but she couldn't see that happening any time soon). Her knee-high socks were warm, and the boots weren't high enough to cause blisters from walking around. With a fond smile, she wrapped the scarf around and shrugged into her coat, a simple pink-coloured bag that she'd left behind being selected from her leftover wardrobe. Adrien had confirmed via cell phones messages that he was on his way, so she scurried past her working parents and disappeared outside to the curb, wanting to avoid fans catching a glimpse of the reason why they were visiting the pâtisserie in the first place.

The vehicle she was becoming familiar pulled up, engine purring still and stuttering as it paused in wait, and Marinette quickly settled herself down inside when it was opened from the inside, as a clear invitation.

When she turned to look at him, Marinette spluttered in laughter. “W-what are you doing?”

“I'm trying to be inconspicuous.” Adrien huffed, adjusting the knitted hat upon his head. It was black, overly large and swallowed most of his hair, and he probably thought that it was helping to hide his appearance. Much like when they'd bumped into each other during her time at home in the winter, he had scarf wrapped around his neck and bunched up to obscure his chin, mouth and neck. It looked forced rather than natural, and Marinette quickly reached over after buckling herself in and snatched the hat from his head. “Hey!”

The tufts of his hair were sticking up in different directions, but it didn't look bad. Not as styled as usual, absolutely, but the messy effect suited him when it was combined with casual clothing that didn't quite scream wealth and popularity. His khaki-coloured trousers weren't riddled with holes, and neither was the sweater upon his upper-half with a white collar of his shirt sticking out from the top. It was a thought out look, though it was covered by the material of the scarf.

“The added hat calls attention to you,” she scolded, placing it on the seat between them. “I'll be damned if you're going to be recognised because of a fashion faux pas.” He didn't question it further, simply crossing his arms stubbornly and eyeing the piece of clothing on the seat with his intentions clear. “And it's not polite to wear hats inside—if that's what we'll be doing.”

At that, his eyes snapped up to meet hers; his narrowed, and Marinette's blinking in what she hoped was innocent. After a moment of silent debating, Adrien said, “I'm not going to tell you. You're quite mean today.”

“Eh?”

A smirk tugged upon one side of his reddened lips. “You burst into laughter as soon as you saw me, with not even a hello, Marinette. That hurt my feelings.”

Of course. She rolled her eyes, shuffling over to him in her seat as much as she could from the belt, and gently poked his fabric-clad shoulder. “I a-paw-logise.”

His reaction was immediate. With a wide smile that met his eyes, showing the straight, white teeth that were often immortalised in magazines, Adrien let out a genuine guffaw that was breathy, abrupt, and slightly high-pitched from how sudden it had been. Marinette's cheeks warmed from the great response, prompting her to want to slip more ridiculous puns that he was fond of into their conversations in the future. Much like their journey the previous day, the blond lightly took a hold of her hands, gently interlacing her fingers between each other and letting them hang loosely as they rested upon the seat. With a smile directed at him, Marinette gazed curiously out of the window to see where their destination was, since the male beside her was keeping his mouth shut (and humming underneath his breath, a calming sound that was quite lovely).

The car didn't drive for long. They passed a few corners, and she began to recognise the scenery more to realise that the driver was circling around a bit, surely to pass the time. Her curiosity peaked, and she glanced at his smug smile from the corner of her eyes when it became clear that she was onto his plan.

“Okay,” Marinette said, squeezing his hand. “I give up. It's nearby, yes? I can understand that by now.”

With a grin, Adrien gestured to his chauffeur to, what she assumed, was to head to their destination. They paused at a curb, engine turning off and become silent, and Marinette looked at the house before them; the clay pots that were dirtied, plants wilting and not as lively as they could've been, and the chipped bright red-colour door.

“We're...”

Adrien grinned, opening his own door and said, “Let's go, shall we?”

They approached the door quietly, and she wondered where he'd gotten the information from. She'd told Alya about it, yes, but hadn't expected her to give up the address of the elderly man on a whim, and certainly not for what she'd expected to be a date. Oh, goodness—she hadn't told Adrien about the missing tail, or that she hadn't been able to approach the feline closely without her bolting out of the door and disappearing to hide elsewhere. No matter what his expectations were, he was going to be thoroughly disappointed from what he was going to see.

A carer dressed in the standard uniform answered the door, greeting them with a nod and inviting them inside after Marinette asked softly whether Mister Fu was home. Adrien trailed in after her, taking off his shoes by the door and admiring the oriental-inspired bungalow and decorations, looking around the rooms as they were escorted into the living room. Much like when she had visited previously, the weathered man was sat within a chair, nursing a cup of traditional tea with a happy smile across his lips. His eyes were closed, streaks of gray throughout his hair, and she smiled as she noted the animal bed that was beside his feet.

It looked used. Marinette could see the indent where there had been a body previously, and she wondered whether the arrival of the carer had scared the feline away.

“Hi, Mister Fu,” she greeted, pausing in the middle of the room and clasping her hands in front of her. “Sorry I haven't visited lately.” Adrien was beside her, quiet until he had the chance to introduce himself when the elderly man opened his eyes and paid attention. “I've got someone with me today.”

Once more, he reached a frail hand to collect his spectacles and place them across the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Marinette.” Mister Fu smiled politely, dark eyes travelling to the figure beside her. “And who might this be?”

He took that chance to shuffle forward, presenting a hand for a shake in greeting and smiled politely. “Adrien Agreste, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you.” His words were polite, kind, and everything she expected him to be when meeting a stranger—well, if the man in front of them counted as a stranger at all. Adrien had surely been filled up-to-date by Alya about Tikki's stay in the bungalow, and therefore Marinette's relationship with him. “I'm the owner of Tikki's brother.”

At that, a smile spread across the bespectacled man's face as he lightly shook the offered hand. “Oh, is that so?” he mused, running the hand through his streaked hair after. “Are you here to see her, then?”

“And you,” Marinette interjected.

He gestured for them to take their coats off—just Marinette in that case, as the blond hadn't worn one—and they talked over brief subjects, and slipped into Chinese at times for murmured comments that weren't quite for Adrien's ears just yet. And the old man looked positively delighted, while Marinette was shocked, when the blond replied in the tongue fluently and joined their conversation. They spent a few hours at the bungalow, drank the tea offered by the carer, and attempted to coax the burnt honey-coloured feline from behind a dresser. At one point she peeked out, staring at the both of them as they made ridiculous noises without a shed of self-consciousness to gain her attention, and Marinette noticed the dark flecks across her fur that resembled spots.

When Adrien enquired softly to Mister Fu about the missing tail, he replied, “It was an unfortunate accident.” And that alone was more information than Marinette had been given about the topic briefly, but she let it slide. The old man was positively delighted from the pictures of Plagg he was shown, and cheerfully exclaimed that the blond was welcome back in his home whenever he wanted, especially when it was revealed that the new bed for Tikki had been from him (apparently, it had been a big hit when they were alone).

They spent a couple of hours with the elderly man, thoroughly enjoying the topics and bursting into shared laughter, and Marinette was astounded at just how natural Adrien could be with an elder that he had just met, and how comfortable he was from the welcoming atmosphere and Mister Fu's bright, and crinkled, smile. They politely declined eating a late lunch with him, explaining the had elsewhere to be, and were escorted to the door by another carer with a patient expression. Marinette had attempted to peek at Tikki once more before leaving, and had been rewarded with another hiss.

Adrien jogged to mutter to his chauffeur, and she watched as the engine started and the vehicle had disappeared into the distance after he'd taken out the rest of their belongings from the back. She shuffled into her coat once more, eyebrow raised in silent questioning about their destination. The blond grinned widely, adjusting the large, and surely warm, material of his scarf to cover his chin and obscure her view of his rosy lips.

“Shall we?” he asked, extending a hand towards her.

And she took it. As their fingers intertwined once more, she relished from the warmth that was offered to her, wrapping her own around his further for more. His temperature was much like his personality; warm and welcoming, and she continued to steal glances at his content expression as they strolled the streets. Their conversation was soft, hushed, so passers-by couldn't overhear them, and he positively glowed by the time they stopped in front of a café. She recognised the outside, the muted décor inside, and realised it was where she'd mistaken him for Nino once before.

Adrien merely smiled, pausing with his free hand hovering by the door handle and giving her the chance to reject the idea. She didn't, though—Marinette rolled her eyes fondly and gestured with her chin for them to continue, and that was that.

He was tall, she noted. He had to be somewhat blessed with height to be a successful model on runways—but they weren't his main work—and she couldn't help but admire him as they walked beside each other comfortably. Whereas they had been relatively the same height when they were younger, by that point the top of her head brushed against his chin if they were pressed against each other. The years had been kind to him in more ways than one; his skin was soft and smooth, much like his hands were, too, and the physique surely came from exercise to keep his figure. He was dedicated to his body, and therefore his career, and she was striving to care about her passion as much as it was showing for him.

So, when they'd settled down after he'd refused to let her pay and said that she could pick their next date and use her money then, Marinette stared dumbly when he announced, “I never wanted to be a model.”

“No?”

“No,” he confirmed, sitting across her on a two-person table that was cold to touch. “My father thought it would be best to have a model nearby when he was asked to collaborate with some designs for children; then, my career was born.” She'd assumed that it was something he had wanted to do, to be closer to his father, because of his family's careers. “That was before I met you, though.”

Mulling over the information, she asked, “So, you started to visit Nino after you modelled?”

Nodding, assuring her that the information was correct, Adrien continued to explain, “At first, I had tutors at home when my father worked there, and then I had some between shoots and such. My aunt, Nino's mother, expressed her concern for my mental health or something absurd and convinced him to allow the tutors to be at their home as often as possible.” He fiddled with his food, eyes downcast and focused on his fingers instead of at her concerned expression. “They just wanted me to have a childhood still, which was nice.”

“Is it rude to ask how you two are related?” Marinette enquired, taking a sip from her beverage afterwards. “The whole relationship between your families was kept secret really well, and I haven't looked online to see whether it's stated there. I thought I'd rather ask you about it.”

He blinked, shadows no longer cast across his cheeks as he looked up with a smile. “Oh, so you're not stalking me online? That's a shame.” He had the gall to wink, and Marinette almost choked on her mouthful. Well, she'd only peeked at his social media a few times and had felt awkward since they hadn't spoken on it. With a flushed face, a hand against her chest in an attempt to gain control of herself again, Marinette furiously blinked to rid herself of the built up moisture in her eyes. “Mine and Nino's mothers are sisters.”

Humming, Marinette tried to picture the faceless family. “Does your mother have dark hair, then? I can't quite imagine Nino being blond.”

Adrien laughed at the image heartily, and explained that his mother was blonde, and that his cousin had once thrown a tantrum when they were younger because his hair wasn't the same colour as Adrien's. From then on, there was a happy smile across the blond's lips as he told small tales of his family, and Marinette quickly realised that his mother wasn't in the picture. It wasn't until he spoke in past tense that she realised that she had passed away, but she held her condolences so their conversation wasn't stuck on the same topic.

They stayed inside the warmth of the café until it was near closing time. He had stated that he was still paying for their outing that time when Marinette attempted to purchase another set of drinks, and she'd huffed and crossed her arms stubbornly the whole time that he had gone. It was a nice atmosphere inside, and the time seemed to pass by as they laughed, and she found herself tentatively describing her awkward teenage years, including the interactions with her friends.

When they arrived in front of her home from his driver, her cheeks hurt from the amount of smiling she had done. Their cheeks were flushed from a mixture of the temperature and their interactions, and her hand was still loosely intertwined with his.

She wetted her lips.

“So,” Adrien started, head tilted so golden-coloured tresses fell over his eye and a lopsided smile tugging at his lips, “did that purr-suade you to demote me to boyfriend status?”

She blinked. And blinked again, lips parted with no sound out of them. It had just been a comment she'd uttered before running away before, but even though his words were teasing—with the damn pun, too—she knew that he was being sincere; because this was the charming male that she'd become friends with before realising, the one that had tugged at her heartstrings despite their distance. Her cheeks warmed, lips pursed as her hand stiffened within his.

“...Purr-haps.”

He laughed—it was a abrupt noise, one that was breathy, since her reply had taken him by surprise. “Oh, really?” And he stepped closer, touching his shoulder to hers lightly. “Is there anything else I could do to sway you more?”

“Yes,” she murmured, well aware that her cheeks were ablaze.

Adrien's grin grew, and their chests were almost touching at that point (or, rather; she was almost hitting his chin with her head). The close distance caused her to tilt her head up to see him clear; to view the sweet smile, the barely there dimples, and golden-tinged eyelashes that framed his bright eyes. He was a walking example of beauty, and the kind smile was for _her_.

“Oh, what could it be?” he mused, squeezing her hand lightly. “Maybe another hiss-terical joke will cause you to—”

Her lips twitched from trying not to laugh at his attempt at humour. Marinette shoved aside her worries, grasped a hold of the overly large scarf to reveal his sharp jawline, and she narrowed her eyes at his suddenly bemused expression. “I can't kiss you if you keep talking,” she found herself saying, well aware that her flushed cheeks revealed how shy she really was.

“Of course, my lady,” Adrien replied happily, and she jumped in surprise when his free arm snaked around her fabric-clad waist, on top of her coat that didn't quite allow his warmth to be felt. He grinned wolfishly, and her body was pressed against his, the hand that was not holding his grasping the material of his sweater. “I did say you could, after all.”

If it hadn't been clear that he was teasing her there, then his nose bumping against hers, lips hovering and not quite connecting, were what made her realise that he was waiting for her to take the step. He had uttered that he wouldn't push _her_ for it—but in such a situation as they were in, then, surely, he knew that it was a clear signal of approval from her body language. With a heavily beating heart, Marinette's eyes closed as she pressed her cold lips against his, not at all surprised that she could feel his smile.

Their movements weren't harsh, bruising, nor were they demanding. They were tentative, uncertain, and as they continued, actions growing more confident, Marinette squeezed his hand gently and was rewarded with his thumb tracing patterns softly upon her skin. He was soft, gentle, and Marinette leaned closer, her own hand between her bosom as she strained her neck, due to their height difference, to allow better access. A hum of approval escaped her throat, but it was quickly muffled by the hushed breaths.

She stood on the tips of her toes, heart hammering and a coil of warmth dancing around taunting in her abdomen, causing her response to be more enthusiastic. Marinette breathed in suddenly and accepted the silent request when his teeth lightly nipped upon her lower lip, and she allowed a soft noise to escape as their kiss deepened. Due to her nerves her movements were somewhat clumsy, almost hitting his teeth with her by accident, but she was soothed by the gentle movements, the reassuring grip upon her hand, the arm securing her position against him. Her muffled moans were breathy, honest, and the thundering heartbeat simply wouldn't cease to be.

Marinette tightened her grip upon his shirt, aware that their movements were becoming languid. When they pulled apart with glistening lips that were quite swollen, rose-coloured blush across their cheeks and bright eyes that portrayed their feelings, Marinette decided that she had never seen him look as vulnerable before. And then, his reddened lips curled into a large grin and he placed a chaste kiss to her lips once more, squeezing her hand, before releasing his hold on her and taking a step backwards.

He cleared his throat. “Will you do me the pleasure of demoting my status, princess?”

Exhaling in amusement, Marinette shakily agreed with flaming cheeks.

-x-

Their return journey caused them to arrive at her apartment in the afternoon. Marinette had had a flushed complexion during their ride, and his never-ending smile and good attitude didn't lessen her nerves for a while. Their conversations were light-hearted and didn't hold any serious questions on their newly established relationship, and she was thankful for that. When the vehicle stilled to a stop and Adrien asked for her to wait for a moment before getting out, she had turned to him with an enquiring expression.

“Yes?” she asked.

The answering grin was almost blinding. “Not that I wouldn't hold you back to kiss you again, but could we wait a few minutes? Nino's coming to surprise Alya.”

It took a moment to comprehend what he'd said. “Nino's coming here? _Now_?” Marinette babbled, eyes widening in horror. “No—that's an _awful_ idea, tell him she hates surprises or something. It will be a war zone in there.”

Adrien blinked. “I... I think it's too late for that. He'll be here any minute now.”

“Fuck,” she cursed, grabbing her belongings into her arms and hastily opening the car door. “Wait down here, okay? I'll be back and tell you whether it's safe or not.”

Not waiting to hear his response, knowing that it was quite rude to sprint away after they'd spent a nice time together, Marinette raced up the staircase and was panting by the time she unlocked the front door with shaking hands. There was music playing, of course, and it took a few moments to recognise which room it was coming from—Alya's. Marinette quickly opened the bedroom door and was ready to blurt out the upcoming events to her before she registered the scene before her.

“ _Aurore_?” she called, incredulous.

Alya and Aurore were underneath the red-head's duvet, tucked nicely in and huddled together with Aurore using her arm as a pillow. They looked visibly surprised at the intrusion before bursting into laughter, and Marinette took in the television show that was on display, recognising it for being the noise she heard.

“Okay, well,” the dark-haired female continued, shaking her head at the duo. “Do you know where Rose is?”

Alya pushed her spectacles further up her nose. “She went out for a bit. What's up, Mari? Weren't you supposed to be on an awesome date?”

“ _Yesterday_ ,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. “When is she back? Fuck, this is going to be a disaster if she appears—please, tell me that she said where she was going.”

Aurore sat up, tucking loose hairs behind her ear. “Something to do with Alix? I'm not really sure.”

 _Alix_? They were friends, yes, but not especially close. Rose was naturally friendly and liked to flutter through conversations and acquaint herself with each person, so the outing with a new person wasn't too surprising; rather, it was the timing that was. Sundays were a peaceful day where the blonde lazed around unless there was a project to do, and that was a sacred time for her. Marinette simply nodded at the reply and uttered that she'd be back in a minute, because, really, she couldn't kick Aurore out of the apartment when she was already friends with Nino.

After dropping off her bag in her room, Marinette had made it to grasp the front door's handle when there were three sharp knocks. She blinked, bewildered, and opened the door cautiously to see who was there.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. Nino was there in the front, a bright smile and his thick-rimmed spectacles upon his nose, and a carrier bag that was wafting smells that were positively delicious and filling out the hallway with the scent. Adrien was behind him, and he shrugged with a sheepish expression when they made contact, mouthing that it was out of his control.

“Hi, Marinette!” Nino greeted, waving with his free hand. “Can I come in?”

She laughed despite the predicament. With a wave of her hand, she invited the two males inside and directed them to the kitchen, despite the slightly open bedroom door they passed. She supposed that inviting Alya's boyfriend into her bedroom unannounced would've given her a heart attack. The carrier bag was placed upon the countertop, and Nino explained happily that the red-head had mentioned food that she had never tasted, so he'd taken it upon himself to find the nearest restaurant that had it upon their menu.

When she quietly entered Alya's bedroom once more, the two were sat against the headboard and happily watching the television show again. She shouldn't have been surprised; it was loud enough to cancel the knocks at the door, and their conversation in the kitchen had been hushed and hadn't drifted into her room.

Marinette clapped her hands together to catch their attention.

Alya was visibly startled, clutching at the duvet with an aghast expression. “Hey!”

“Your boyfriend's here.”

The blonde reacted first, turning to look at the tanned female incredulously. “ _Boyfriend_? You invited me here to have a wallowing session for our lack of a sex life!”

At that exclamation, Aurore threw the covers on top of Alya's face and huffed, pushing her by the shoulder to fall down onto the mattress. The blonde crossed her arms stubbornly, and Marinette stifled her laughter from realising that the two were clad in matching pyjamas, one of the duplicate sets that Alya owned.

Alya made a mumbled comment and thrashed within the fabric, freeing herself with an audible deep breath. “Hey!” she retorted, pointing a finger at the blonde on her bed. “A boyfriend doesn't mean I have a sex life!”

“Yes, say it loud enough for him to hear you in the kitchen,” Marinette drawled, crossing the room to shut off the show and cancel out the noise. “He bought food for you, so you can stuff your face freely when you emerge from this cave of sexual tension.”

At that, the red-head beamed. Marinette rolled her eyes and left them to their own devices, instead fixing hot drinks for everyone when they decided to grace them with their presence. The two cousins were talking quietly, and she wondered whether it was going to be a repeated occurrence. They were welcome, yes, but it was still going to cause a disturbance. Rose's insistence that their home was a women-only area had still been very enforced since they'd moved in, and the two exceptions to the rule were Nino and his _family—_ which were, indeed, chatting away happily in their kitchen while the blonde was out without a clue.

When Alya appeared clad in the familiar red-and-white pyjamas with long sleeves and trousers with a ribbon at the waist, she snorted in amusement. She didn't seem much like the type to dress up for her boyfriend, and from Nino's toothy grin and cheerful wave at her, that was very much reciprocated, it proved that he didn't mind at all.

Marinette hovered by the countertop, leaning against it and nursing her mug of warm drink, and smiled when Adrien joined her so Alya could take a seat beside his cousin. They exchanged smiles and raised eyebrows about the shy conversation in front of them, and tried not to snicker when nino stumbled over his words. Alya had stirred around three spoonfuls of sugar without realising by the time Aurore wandered into the kitchen, looking ruffled and dressed in tight jeans and a floral shirt that was transparent enough to see the lace of her brassiere.

“Well,” Aurore starting, blatantly staring at the seated duo with a smirk appearing across her lips, “as I'm not interested in being the fifth wheel, I'll get going.” Bunching her hair up together, Aurore pulled the golden tresses into a low ponytail, amusement clear within her expression. “I'll leave you to your poor sexless relationship, Alya. Good luck.”

And with that, the blonde snickered as she dashed through the hallway and made her escape before Alya could react accordingly. Nino burst into guffaws and took it as a joke, while the red-head had flushed cheeks and groaned.

Adrien's cell phone cut their time short, though. He was summoned away for a meeting, and despite feeling sad that their time was cut, that didn't mean that she didn't enjoy their prolonged time during the weekend. So, with a shy wave by the front door, Adrien looked clearly amused from there being no kiss rather than offended, and she spent the remainder of her time tucked away in her bedroom and working on her university projects.

Alya had attended Aurore's party on the Friday, and Rose had stayed at home, saying that she wasn't in the mood to drink. She wasn't as cheery as usual when they spoke, and Marinette grew increasingly worried as time passed. Adrien had called her for their routine nightly call and said that he had to leave the country for a couple of days, so he wouldn't be able to call because of time differences. So, that left her slowly typing out e-mails rather than spending too much money on international messages, and enjoying her time in the evenings by stitching new items for the _Ladyblog_. Alya was overjoyed with the new designs that she'd showed her—that were not lingerie, finally—and fully supported them.

The new sponsor package had arrived, and Marinette had made sure to feature them in the new Lady pictures without being too obvious about it. There had been a few complaints about the product placement, but in general most were okay with the subtle placement and were happy about the discount code, rather than feeling forced to buy them. There were still questions of her identity, and the upcoming inclusion in the animated series hadn't been revealed yet, thankfully. While Alya laughed away the threats that came sometimes through the blog, Marinette had been revealed when no one picked up their mail while she'd been away.

Nathaniel still wasn't at university. When she questioned Alya whether he'd been present lately for her classes, she shrugged her shoulders and said that she wouldn't know, because he liked to stick to the back and lurk in the shadows, especially if he was wearing a surgical mask on days. They were all pointing to him being busy with his job under his suitable pseudonym, though she knew that Adrien hadn't began recording yet, and she knew that they hadn't received any further information yet.

It was Thursday evening when their worries for Rose had increased. She had been standing by the cupboards, searching for a mug to use, when she came across the one with Nino's face and a quote upon and stared blankly at it for moments on end. Then, she grasped the handle and waltzed over to the bin and shoved it inside, all while avoiding contact of the two at the table that had paused in eating their dinner. Rose had been distant, yes, not quite as chipper, but for her to throw away one of her prized possessions was quite daunting and made Marinette realise the extent of her hurt.

“Rose?” she called softly, eyebrows furrowed as she was unsure how to comfort her friend.

The blonde continued to retrieve a new mug, free of the tanned male's face, and poured herself a drink. “Yes?”

She was acting as though it hadn't happened. Marinette exchanged a brief glance with Alya and received a nod of approval, urging her to continue softly, and she did just that. “Are you okay? You've been... off since the webcast.”

“Oh, have I?”

It was sarcastic, it had to be. “You didn't buy Nino's new magazine.”

“He doesn't own a magazine,” Rose replied airily, stirring a spoon within her beverage and keeping her gaze firmly away from them. “I don't see what the problem is.”

“You've been his biggest fan for _years—_ you didn't pull away when he was caught on a date a couple of years ago, nor when there were all those rumours during school,” Marinette pointed out, placing her cutlery on the table so she could wring her hands together from nerves. “Rose, please, talk to us.”

The blonde's hand stilled. “There's nothing to talk about.”

“You're acting like we killed your favourite goldfish again,” Alya pitched in, elbows on the countertop and leaning against them with a sincere expression. “We're not guilty this time, so just know we're... here.” The red-head wrinkled her nose at her choice of words, and Marinette muffled a snort of amusement at how typical they sounded. “Is it really because Nino has a girlfriend now?”

Marinette gulped.

Rose stilled, staring into her mug. Silence grew heavy around them, growing thick, and it was disturbed by the spoon that placed into the sink for later, and all she said was, “ _No_.” And with that, the blonde quickly left and ran into her room, shutting the door loudly.

That was the most truth that they could get from her for the time being. Marinette tried to come up with answers countless times, and received none and a bewildered look from Alya whenever she brought up the subject and wondered about it cause. Something had triggered the emotions in the blonde, and she was utterly confused about what it was; it couldn't be Ali, as the crush was one-sided and it couldn't have taken so long to bother her after she'd returned. There wasn't much stress on her to finish her work for university just yet, and the sudden disinterest in Nino was simply baffling.

There was good news on Saturday, however. Marinette had retrieved their mail and safely placed the negative ones in her own personal bin, and was startled when a loud shriek from Alya's room sounded. Then, there were rushed footsteps and her own door was thrown open, and a warm body collided against her as her red-headed friend wrapped her arms around her shoulders in a tight embrace.

“We're going tomorrow!” Alya exclaimed, rocking her back-and-forth and causing Marinette to sway from her excitement. “I just got the e-mail from that guy—you know, the one that contacted us about Lady appearing in the series' opening and ending? He wants to meet you and go over details tomorrow.”

With that daunting news, Marinette wetted her lips. It was quickly explained where they were going early in the morning, and she was instantly nervous at the thought. The clothing she needed to wear was going to be made, and a director was going to tell her purpose. It wasn't revealed fully what her role was going to be yet, and they explained that the creator was going to attempt to explain himself, to make sure that his vision was going to come to life properly. It was a lot of pressure by the sound of it, and that caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_I'm meeting the director and the creator of the comic tomorrow, and I'm really freaking out. Any tips? I doubt that you'll be there._

_Yours,  
Marinette.'_

It was the next morning when she received his reply. Marinette dried her damp hair as she read, busying herself from worrying too much.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Praline_

_Girlfriend,_

_I'd offer to comfort you with phone sex, but it would probably be in the middle of the day when I finally get time alone. How about I promise to cause your nerves to be about something else?_

_Yours,  
Adrien_.'

She stifled laughter from the first sentence, and didn't have a chance to reply before a second e-mail came through.

There was an attachment.

Much like shirtless picture he'd sent after their failed phone conversation in the past, the shot shoved above his navel, the dips and curves of his body, along with bright eyes and dimples which looked far too innocent to belong to him at that moment. Marinette bit into her lower lip, noting that he was playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck, which fully supported the shy smile he was displaying. He was— _coy_.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Praline_

_Marinette,_

_This is only fair because I see the Lady pictures in a whole new light now._

_Yours,  
Adrien._ '

She was astounded at first, then the blush set in and she quickly saved the photograph without a second thought. She'd done much the same for the others he'd sent on her cell phone, so it was only right to continue the tradition. Never before had she been so grateful to the blog which showed far too much of her body—thankfully, not the private parts—and fully appreciated how comfortable someone had to be with their looks to use it as a career. She was there, a shy and terribly self-conscious female who couldn't quite believe the fame and popularity she'd received online for how her _body_ looked, not even her face, but hearing from one person in particular that he appreciated her pictures caused her to feel a mix of awe and embarrassment.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_Expect retaliation later._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

She fumbled for her bag and placed her belongings in it quickly, catching up to Alya in the hallway and they waited for their taxi together, anxious expressions on both of their faces. The ride was filled with mostly them dozing off and waking up abruptly at the sharp turns, and when they were before the small building where they'd be working in, Marinette wetted her lips from nerves.

It was the first time she was going to introduce herself as her pseudonym, and that thought alone was daunting. They were greeted by a stout, balding man with excessive gray facial hair, that introduced himself as Damocles, no first name offered, and herded them inside to meet those that were present for that day. Marinette shrugged at her friend when they made contact, and gestured for the red-head to go first.

She was nervous. There was no voice recording so far, so she knew that Nathaniel wasn't going to be in attendance yet. She clutched at the material of her knee-length dress, anxious for the awkward encounter that was sure to come.

When they entered the room and were told to sit down, and that the creator would be there in a moment to explain her role, Marinette sat down mechanically and stared at the closed door, nerves causing her hands to shake. Beside her Alya was fine, simply tapping away at the illuminated screen of her cell phone in what she supposed was in a message to Nino. They'd told Rose about their outing earlier in the week, but she hadn't responded very enthusiastically to the news. The blonde hadn't snapped a picture of Marinette for the blog for what seemed like months.

And then, the door opened and a slim figure slipped inside. Marinette blinked rapidly, connecting the dots rapidly and resisted the urge to gasp aloud when she realised how _right_ she had been at assuming he had a role in the production. Nathaniel's scarlet hair was the same as ever, brushed aside to show his blue eyes and pale skin, and he was busy looking at the documents in his hand to register the surprise on the two female's faces.

Alya, however, chose to comment on her befuddlement, “ _Nathaniel_?”

The male's eyes snapped up, widening in a mixture of horror and surprise as they flickered between the two sitting down before him. While Alya didn't add on anything else to say, it seemed that was all that needed to be said at that moment. He cleared his throat, looking shy once more, and sat down in a seat opposite them, placing the folder onto a small table that looked worn out.

“This is what you meant when you said your blog is straining, isn't it?” he questioned, running a hand through his hair. “If you'll hold your questions for the end, I'll explain.”

And if Alya wanted to protest, she showed no signs of it—hearing the red-headed male speak one word had been astounding enough, let alone hearing the low voice and the lovely tone it had when he spoke for a prolonged amount of time. She quickly thought that her friend would figure out the identity of Silencieux immediately because of the voice, but it seemed to take until Nathaniel actually announced it for the information to click. Alya had grabbed onto Marinette's wrist briefly, speaking no words, and _squeezed_ to convey her surprise.

Nathaniel was Silencieux, the mysterious voice actor that was heavily demanded, and that was why he was often absent from university. The higher-ups knew about his career, just not the details of what exactly he did, so he delivered his work and received the information needed from lectures via e-mail. As long as he attended any exams at the university, they were fine with his sporadic attendance as long as it was proved that he was working. Then, he dropped the fact that the tongue-tied prince was his own comic, and Alya really did gasp aloud and murmur that it had been one of her favourites.

The basic plot and her role was explained—the shy prince traded his voice for the ability to draw, and gained supernatural powers that allowed his creations to come to life for a brief period of time. That was the story until he continued to doodle a girl, attempting to create the perfect one, and she'd came to life without a face, and thereafter he tried to soothe her distress and give her a face. A story of a awkward boy that couldn't speak, and a girl that couldn't see.

Lady was the inspiration, apparently. Nathaniel had looked away shyly, the tips of his ears and cheeks matching his hair colour, as he explained that the faceless pictures had inspired him, and therefore he made the female lead resemble her as much as he could.

The idea was for the opening and ending to be a mix of animation and her actual body—flickers of her in real life during the scenes where he tries to fix her, and within the credits.

The filming wouldn't happen for a few weeks, and Nathaniel and Damocles simply wanted to make her role clear and make sure there was room within her schedule. So, with a shy good-bye to the red-headed male, Marinette exited the building with her shocked friend who was still processing the events that had happened.

It wasn't until their taxi had arrived that Alya commented, “What the _fuck_?” She couldn't help it. Marinette laughed heartily, only roaring with guffaws louder from the incredulous look that the bespectacled female sent her. “Why aren't you freaking out?”

“I already knew.” The words were out before she could stop that. Marinette held her hands up in surrender, hoping that she wouldn't be hit in the back of the taxi, and quickly said, “I knew about him being Silencieux, I mean. I knew as soon as you made me watch those episodes with you.”

“And the comic?”

She hummed, leaning back against the seat. “I had my suspicions. In one of our conversations before, he told me that he used to have a comic—said it was too much pressure at times.”

And with that, Alya hit her playfully in the shoulder. “You're unbelievable! You could've warned me. I looked like an utter fool, and I'm such a... _fan_.”

“We've got to keep it a secret, remember?” Marinette murmured, glancing at the driver. “I don't quite have the money to pay fines because of your loud mouth.”

Alya raised her eyebrows, lips curling into a smug smirk. “This mouth is a lot of things, but loud hasn't been associated with it lately.”

“Alya!” Marinette pushed her back that time, shaking her head. “It's too weird this time! I actually _know_ him.”

With a few witty remarks, they made their way back up to their apartment and headed towards the kitchen to warm themselves up. Alya was grinning widely, looking thoroughly pleased with herself from the outcome of their morning, and Marinette couldn't help but roll her eyes as they set about making lunch. Partway through, their distant room-mate appeared and got herself a drink, settling upon the seat by the table, therefore including herself in their meal once more. She answered questions when asked, though never initiated them herself thus far.

Marinette placed a plate in front of Rose with a small smile, and all she received in return was a nod of her head.

Their meal was mostly silent. Marinette kept glancing up, concerned, and unsure of how to approach the subject.

So, in a move that showed her intelligence, the dark-haired female blurted, “Did we do something wrong?”

Rose looked up from her food, wide cerulean eyes glancing between the two of them before looking back down at her plate. “No,” she murmured softly, so quiet that she almost didn't hear it. “No, you didn't—it's my own problem.”

“Rose,” Alya called, pushing her spectacles up. “Can you just tell us what happened? It's been over a week and we're honestly really worried about you. I'm close to calling your mother.”

“All right,” the blonde said, placing her face within her palm and rubbing harshly for a moment. “I'm just... confused.”

Marinette blinked, not quite expecting that response. “Confused about what, though?”

Holding a hand up to signal for them to wait, Rose shook her head and caused the short strands of her hair to stand up and fall down repeatedly with the motion. “It's not about Nino's girlfriend, if that's what you're going to ask,” she announced quietly, voice not wavering or stumbling over the syllables. The declaration was brave, and it seemed almost sincere at that moment. “I... I know my love for him was naïve. It was like a child adoring a television character—I didn't consider him a real person, not really.”

And it was all coming out. Marinette gazed at her friend warily, watching the downcast eyes and trying to decipher whether they'd be brimmed with moisture when she looked up.

Instead, Rose audibly gulped before continuing to mumble softly, “I'm glad for you, Alya.”

That comment caught their attention. Alya sat up straighter, baffled, and uncertain how to respond, and Marinette reached out across the table to lightly touch her friend's shoulder in a sign of comfort. When the blonde leaned into her touch, she stood up from her seat and moved over to stand next to Rose, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “What do you mean, Rose?”

“I saw you two last Sunday.”

Alya choked audibly.

“I'm not mad,” Rose continued quietly, hands clutching the material of her shirt and nervously clenching and pulling, “I was at first, but I—I saw you two in here, too enamoured with each other to realise that I'd walked in, and I just... went into my room. I was angry at first, yes, but it was mostly because you didn't tell me.” They hadn't quite perfected their plan to tell Rose the news, so hearing about her reaction was eye-opening. “I understand why, though, but that doesn't make it hurt less.”

Alya sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I'm sorry, if that helps at all.”

“What else is bothering you?” Marinette asked tentatively.

A pained expression flickered across the blonde's face before it was smothered, replaced by a blank look that was slowly becoming more familiar. “I... I'm just realising some things, that's all.”

“That's a load of shit,” the bespectacled female commented, sounding quite passionate in her response. “You've been in this depressed state for far too _long_. Normally you pushed aside something that's frustrating and move on, so why not now?”

“Because I can't throw her away!”

Marinette could feel the blonde stiffen in her arms. Squeezing once more in a comforting gesture, she pulled away and settled down in the seat beside her, no longer embracing her. “Her, Rose?” she enquired, confusion leaking into her tone.

A glance with the red-head across the table proved that she was just as confused, too. Marinette tried to think of who, specifically, could be bothering her friend, but couldn't come up with any names. She hadn't been home for too long before the depressive state had kicked in, and that was only after Nino had announced that he was dating someone.

“Wait,” Marinette mused aloud uncertainly, “Rose...”

Alya croaked, “Me?”

At the fierce shake of the blonde's head, that idea was denied. It wasn't Alya, thankfully, that was causing her rapid emotions or the irritation response to being comforted. Marinette fiddled with her fingers, wondering how to continue without pushing her friend too far. Rose wasn't shaking, there were no tears welling within her eyes, but that didn't mean that she was okay.

Alya took her chance in the silence to question, “Are you not... interested in Nino any more, then?”

She winced.

“Not like that,” Rose mumbled, stretching the material of her shirt with her hands. “I'm still his fan, but I won't have fantasies of becoming his wife any more. It's not right.”

The fact that she was comprehending that, finally, was astounding enough. So, then the red-head pushed it and continued to ask, “Why?”

Rose stood up suddenly, facial features scrunched in a pained expression as she exclaimed, “Because he's _yours_ , okay! And I'd kill to have her look at me like that!” And with that said, Rose grunted in frustration with clenched fists, looking like she was about to punch the table, before she sprinted out of the room and shut the door loudly to her bedroom.

Her guess was that Rose had feelings of affection for someone of the same gender, and that was why she was feeling so conflicted. Marinette and Alya quietly talked about their thoughts on the situation—fully supporting her, naturally—and tried to deduce what had opened her eyes to her. Maybe her time with Ali had opened her eyes to what liking someone really meant, as they had been in close contact and surrounding each other often, and she realised that and tried to quietly deny it. Nino dating someone, knowing that he had genuine feelings for a special person, perhaps caused a chain reaction that wasn't fully intended.

She was worried.

Later, once she'd settled down into her bedroom to review her day and note down the important things to place upon her desk, Marinette remembered her earlier promise to Adrien.

She'd taken pictures of herself in the past, of course, but had never intentionally tried to take a flirtatious one. Alya and Rose were the masters of snapping candid pictures of her, and Marinette's own experience ended at face and attempting to capture group photographs.

She dressed herself in the t-shirt she'd worn during their call and settled upon the edge of her bed, taking multiple pictures of herself in an attempt to choose the best. In the end, she decided to attach one where she was visibly from her nose down, thighs crossed and visible, and ended just before her knees.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_Still no bra._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

In the morning, his reply was at much the same time.

' _Bulle-Chat_  
_to Marinette D-C_  
_RE: Praline_

_Marinette,_

_You made me have to hide under a blanket during my flight. That's evil._

_Yours,  
Adrien._ '

She positively cackled in glee from his words.

' _Marinette D-C_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
_RE: Praline_

_Adrien,_

_You deserved it, tease._

_Yours,  
Marinette_.'

Grinning widely, Marinette bunched her hair into a ponytail, grabbed her bag and set out for the day. She saw Rose briefly in the hallway and was given a small smile, and that made her so _happy_. Marinette beamed right back and enjoyed the rest of her classes, even walked to the coffee-shop and sat with Aurore for a while, and then returned back home and completed the finishing touches on the new _Ladyblog_ items.

She'd crafted ten t-shirts, five of each design, and while half had ladybugs stitched into the fabric, the other had paw prints. Alya had agreed to the design previously, so the only worry was about whether anyone would actually purchase her clothing. Stitching the last label into a shirt, Marinette jumped in surprise when there was a loud call of, “ _Marinette_!”

Scrambling out of her seat, only just remembering to place the needle _down_ , Marinette ran quickly into the kitchen and asked, “What is it?”

As happy as she was to see her room-mates sat together, closely, the concerned expressions on their faces didn't assure her that it was a happy situation. With furrowed eyebrows, Marinette glanced at the countertop and noticed why she'd been called in; envelopes were littering the counter, some scrawled messy with red pen, a few with obnoxious skulls and other child-like scribbles on the front, while the rest were postcards that were gratified and definitely not as nice as they had been previously.

“I—” Marinette cleared her throat. “I can explain?” It came out as a squeak and a question, and she didn't blame her friends for not believing her weak voice.

“H-how long?” Rose questioned, looking up from the defaced postcards within her hands. “Why didn't you tell us?”

It really sounded like their situations were reversed suddenly. Noting how odd that sounded coming from the blonde, Marinette blinked and clutched her elbow in a self-conscious gesture, eyes trailing over the different posts. “A while now. I keep throwing them out.”

“This means people know where we live, Marinette!”

“They're for me,” the dark-haired female pointed out, scowling. “Someone... I don't know who, but someone posted my address online, along with a picture of me. They have my e-mail, too, but that's about it.”

Alya looked pained. “This is abuse, Mari.”

“It's not going to stop.” She shrugged, trying to brush off how hurtful they really were. “It's petty comments from sour teenagers and such, and sometimes they're filled with glitter. They're harmless, really.”

Rose was the one to say, “Other than hurting your feelings.”

“I'll just have to deal with it.” Her grip tightened. “I don't know who it was, but I very much doubt that they'll take more pictures of me. Let them vent their anger and then it'll die out, and we'll be left alone.”

“This is what you get for _knowing_ them!” Alya exclaimed, gesturing dramatically to the letters. “What will happen when they find out you're really dating Adrien, eh? Are you waiting for a dead rat or _what_?” The idea sent a shiver down her spine, but she doubted it would escalate to that, especially because of the average ages of the two cousins' fans. “I'll probably experience the same when someone finds out I'm Nino's girlfriend, and then it'll only get worse.”

The blonde sighed, arms upon the table and leaned down to rest her forehead against them. “Well, there's not much we can do, right?”

“Get a new e-mail account,” Alya advised.

She smiled sheepishly. “I guess having my real name was a bad idea—no wonder Adrien uses such a weird one.”

“Nino does, too.”

“What if...” Rose trailed off, looking up abruptly and glancing at the bespectacled female for support. “Couldn't we find out who posted it, at least? It wasn't a reporter, otherwise they'd be on the gossip blogs or magazines—so it was someone nearby. Maybe we go to university with them.”

Alya hummed, scratching her neck briefly. “I'm not so good, but we could, maybe, beg Alix to try?”

“It might be worth a try.”

After Rose tried to bundle all of the envelopes in her arms and throw them into the oven, they were taken away and shoved into the bin so they were out of her reach. It seemed that once the problems were from someone else, she was visibly fine to talk about someone else's. She was smiling once more at Alya's jokes, and she silently decided to not enquire and identify the one who Rose's heart was fond for. Alya mentioned that they were going to keep quiet about it, and make sure not to tell their friends in case the word spread, and she had no qualms with that. She had never intended to tell Adrien or anyone else anyway (along with her room-mates).

That evening, the t-shirts sold out almost instantly. The reaction was bewildering, and flattering, and she wondered if she'd ever have the chance to see someone in person wearing her own creation.

When her cell phone chimed one evening, midway through the week, Marinette grabbed at it blindly while scribbling away some designs. “Hello?”

“Hi, girlfriend.” The smile was clear in his voice. “I've missed you.”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly, regretting not peeking at the name first. “Did you just get back?”

It was nice to hear him after over a week. His trip had been extended because of difficulties, and he hadn't give a clear date when he was going to come back, so the call was unexpected, but welcome.

Adrien made a disapproving noise with his tongue. “I feel awfully unloved right now—is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

She wanted to laugh at how dramatic he sounded, but instead gnawed at her lower lip to stifle the noise. “Oh, forgive me,” Marinette exclaimed, extending the syllables, “welcome home, darling.”

“Better.” He was probably grinning. “How have you been? I'm sorry I couldn't call.”

Stressed. “I've been fine, silly. Is your sleep going to be messed up for a while?”

He made a grunting noise that expressed his disappointment. “Unfortunately. I have to be up early tomorrow to see my father, too. I might as well just stay up all night.”

“At least try and sleep for an hour or so,” Marinette urged, recalling their conversations back when she was swamped with work, and he still told her to get to bed. “How about I'll reward you if you do?” she found herself saying, cheeks burning instantly from the words.

“That depends on what the reward is,” he quipped. “I'm not being fooled so you can send me a picture of your pillow.”

She huffed, pretending to be offended. “Do you think that lowly of me?” At the silence that greeted her, Marinette rolled her eyes and exhaled in amusement. “Fine—what would you like, Adrien?”

“How about I say when I prove that I've slept?” the blond proposed, and she could almost hear the mischievous tone of his voice—surely, there was a smirk across his lips that didn't match the rest of his innocent appearance. And despite the worry that was running through her mind, she agreed. “Excellent. I'll send you proof in the morning.”

Pulling the cell phone away briefly to glance at the time, Marinette commented, “You're not going to try and sleep yet, are you? I'm not even going yet.”

“This relationship has gotten demanding already.”

She snorted. “You went from not wanting to sleep to trying to sleep for almost eleven hours?”

“Ten, actually.” Adrien sniffed. “If you want to stay up and keep talking to me, that's completely fine instead.”

Rolling her eyes despite him not being able to see, Marinette was undoubtedly fond of him. “I'll stay until the usual time since I have classes tomorrow,” she said, smiling as she played with the dark tresses of her hair. “Did you just get home, then? Or are you calling me during your ride like before?”

“I just fell into my bed—Plagg's sleeping so he hasn't quite realised that I'm back yet,” Adrien whispered dramatically. “Nino dropped him off earlier. I think his furniture's safe this time, thankfully.”

Marinette laughed, recalling the picture of the scratch marks on his cousin's furniture. “Oh, could I ask your help with something?” At the affirmative, she mulled her options over how to phrase the question, before postponing their conversation by saying she was changing into her pyjamas first, putting the cell phone down as she shuffled out of her clothing. Once Marinete was clad in an overly large shirt that was adorned with a foreign phrase that had caught Alya's interest, she laid back against her pillows and retrieved her cell phone once more. “All done.”

“Bra off?” Adrien questioned, amusement clear in his tone.

She grinned, eyeing the brassiere that was draped over the back of her chair. “Yes—it's the best part of my day.”

“That hurts.” The blond sniffed dramatically, and she bit into her lower lip to keep her laughter at bay. “I'm in competition with your clothing. You're _really_ hurting my ego nowadays, darling.”

“Well,” Marinette started softly, fondness leaking into her voice, “imagine how great it'll be if you're the one taking it off?” She'd murmured just as embarrassing things in the past to him, definitely, but she wasn't going to groan and lament about it; rather, Marinette embraced the warmth across her face and refused to shove her face into a pillow and wish for the moment to be over.

He exhaled in amusement, and she was surprised that he didn't laugh outright at her comment. “It'll be my pleasure, princess,” he drawled.

“I think you'll have to earn it, though,” the dark-haired female replied, feeling the burst of confidence as she tried not to picture the scenario too soon. “You haven't kissed me once.”

Adrien answered quickly, his words calm and not at all stumbling over the syllables, “That doesn't mean I haven't imagined it.”

She wetted her lips.

“Oh?” Marinette murmured, well aware of the heartbeat that began to run to a faster pace. “And what else have you imagined, Adrien?” And she noticed the breathy quality to her voice, not at all embarrassed that her arousal was showing; it was understandable, and they had certainly toyed around before.

There was no laughter. Instead, Adrien's voice possessed the same qualities as hers when he drawled, “Many things that are quite embarrassing to say aloud.” Breathy, low, and drastically different to their tones when they started their call. “Right now I'm torn between picturing your thighs, or you without your bra on.”

Her smile was wide as she bit into her lower lip, cheeks warm and starting to hurt from how happy she was feeling, and she pressed her face slightly into the fabric of her pillow for comfort. “And what if you don't have to imagine it?”

A few moments passed after he audibly inhaled, and she began to feel nervous about the reply. “As lovely as that sounds, I still want my original reward for sleeping.”

 _Right—_ she'd forgotten about that detail. Marinette exhaled in amusement, wondering what his request could possibly be; she knew that he wouldn't push her for anything she wasn't ready for, and the offer had been a step forward that she was willing to take. “Will you tell me?” she asked softly.

There were muffled noises coming through from his end. Perplexed, Marinette waited as a plethora of different sounds came before she could pinpoint them correctly. From her guess, the blond had dropped his cell phone, and the soft high-pitched noises that were audible sounded almost familiar. She ran a hand through her hair, taking in a deep breath to calm down and soothe her relocated pulse.

“Marinette?” Adrien called some minutes later, sounding awake, voice louder than before. “I'm sorry, are you still here?”

She cleared her throat. “I'm here.”

“I'm so _sorry_ ,” the blond exclaimed, sighing afterwards. And then, the high-pitched noises were coming through clearer than before, and she finally realised that they were from the feline that lived with him. Marinette laughed softly as she heard Adrien hush Plagg, a rustling of fabric sounding. “He realised I'm home, so I—well, I can't really have that sort of conversation with an audience.”

Flushing, Marinette understood the point entirely. “It's okay,” she assured him. “I'm going to sleep now, so make sure you do, okay?”

“Will do.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Don't forget to reward me in the morning.”

And after a few murmured comments to sleep well, with Plagg intruding constantly and yelling loudly for attention during, she ended the hall and laid back against her cushions, recalling their conversation with a fond smile. It was more than a step in the right direction—the affection, and desire, was absolutely mutual, and that fact warmed her heart. So, with a fond smile across her lips, Marinette allowed her wandering fingers to trail across her abdomen, dipping lower and reaching into the material of her underwear.

The flesh was warm and inviting against her cool fingertips, and she bit firmly into her lower lip, free hand clutching the duvet, as she brushed against her protrusion, gasping at the sudden sensations. A digit pushed further, confident movements exploring with full commitment as she closed her eyes. She shifted her hips, heartbeat fluttering and pulse firmly aching between her legs, and the gentle build up of pleasure caused her breaths to be ragged. Another finger joined, slightly stretching the skin, and her body craved for _more_.

Her toes curled.

Marinette moaned softly under her breath, pulse frantic within her head as she continued her movements, shifting her body every moment that called for it, to allow better access and more of the pleasurable feeling that was coursing through her. With her hair splayed across the pillow, teeth firming biting into her reddened lip to muffle the noise, Marinette gasped louder than expected when her fingertips brushed against the bundle of nerves she'd been looking for. Her grasp on the duvet became tighter, needier, and her imagination fluttered to him; his comments, the sweet smile that he showed her, and those damn _pictures_ that were meant for her eyes only.

The warmth within her lower half built up over time. With her wrist rubbing intentionally against her protrusion with every movement, fingertips against the part of her that was craving attention, the coiling within was frantic, much like her breaths. A moan slipped through, and she turned her head into the pillow to muffle some of the noise. She was teetering upon the edge of pleasure, and before long her muscles tensed around her, legs buckling and pressing against the mattress.

Her face was flushed, damp, and her underwear was quite ruined, but the satisfied smile and the pleasure that had coursed through her had been worth it. She didn't feel guilty any more, and for a good reason—they were dating, after all. It was only natural for hormones to be prominent.

When she awoke in the morning, Adrien's evidence was a picture of him peeking out from beneath a blue-coloured duvet, the end of his nose covered along with the rest lower, only his eyes and ruffled hair visible, with an alarm clock visible beside him.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _I want my reward to be you calling me kitty. I've never heard you say it._ '

She flushed.

_PREVIEW: “You're driving me crazy here, Marinette.”_


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trash and apologise greatly. I can assure you I'm not giving up writing, or on this story, and I feel awful about the long time since my last update. Thank you for all the love and reviews, I really appreciate it.

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“A-Adrien,” she stuttered, eyes clenched shut as she tried to shuffle away from him. A splutter of laughter escaped despite her best attempts to keep it muffled, and the breathy laughter upon her ear in response proved that he was thoroughly amused. She pushed at his chest, attempting to create distance. Instead of accepting the hint, the blond persisted, teeth nibbling against her earlobe once more and causing her to shudder and laugh in response. When he pulled back and breathed upon the dampened skin, Marinette made a high-pitched noise and pulled away, almost falling off of the couch in process.

“I never knew you were ticklish here,” he remarked, sounding positively delighted. “That'll be fun in the future.”

The blush along her cheeks darkened. The softly exchanged kisses that had developed into them leaning into each other, breaths loud and uneven, and had developed into a few minutes of searching as his fingertips had slowly travelled beneath her shirt, connecting with the bare skin of her abdomen and causing her to shiver in surprise from the warmth he offered. He'd brushed against her side, never testing to see whether she wanted to go further—or, rather; upwards—and his lips had pressed tentatively across her jawline as he moved. Marinette simply clutched at his t-shirt, scrunching the material into a ball, not quite getting the courage to allow her hands to wander, too. And when he'd taken advantage of the exposed skin of her neck, she'd gasped. When he continued and gently nipped her earlobe, however, she'd pressed her lips into a firm line and tried to muffle the restrained laughter, not wanting to ruin the intimate moment.

It was ruined when he gently bit her cartilage, though.

Puffing her cheeks out dramatically, Marinette shook her head. “I'll never give you the opportunity to do so again.”

“Are you trying to say we'll have a relationship without your neck?” Adrien questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“...Don't—”

His lips twitched. “Will it be... neck-less?” And with that said, he pointed towards the prominent necklace that was on display, the single strap of black that wrapped fully around and complimented her skin.

“I'm done with you,” Marinette groaned with a sigh, pulling her shirt down so there wasn't a sliver of her stomach on display. “You really can't go a day without using a pun.”

“Would you like to bet on that?” the blond questioned, a lopsided grin appearing.

At the offer of the bet, she tilted her head to the side slightly, considering the request. It would've been quite amusing to see him stumble over his words at times, trying not to use his odd sense of humour, though she sincerely wondered about his wants. When he'd requested for her to call him the nickname she'd fondly typed through all those months, she'd really thought he'd been joking (hoped, rather). And then when they spoken during the weeks, never quite being able to meet in person due to busy schedules, Marinette had almost forgotten about the request until Adrien had found free time and arrived at her apartment, clad in the large scarf once more.

It had taken her over thirty minutes for her to call him it, and afterwards she'd hid her face in her hands while he laughed fondly and embraced her tightly—the start of their current situation.

They hadn't seen each other since the day after they'd started dating (almost a month), but having him there beside her, feeling the warmth seeping through as he lazily had an arm wrapped around her shoulders once more, pulling her close into a make-shift embrace, Marinette felt any budding doubts about their relationship be pushed away. There wasn't any reason to doubt him; there'd always been rumours about his relationships—along with Nino's now, too, since they seemed to be a package deal in the media—so now that one cousin had proclaimed his relationship, while Adrien had stated his was changing soon, the magazines were running rampant with rumours and suggestions of who the new _power_ couple could be.

Somehow, Alya and Nino had been able to meet up outside with a paparazzi being tipped off about them, and she'd even visited Nino's apartment, taking a picture as proof that showed the usual setting that was shown on the webcasts. Their relationship had taken off wonderfully, and the goofy smile that was upon the red-head's lips at times was just so warming to see that she didn't tease her about it.

Rose wasn't upset, though. While she still had her fits of destroying her merchandise that was associated Nino—even the replica spectacles that were like his—the small blonde-haired female didn't take her anger out of her room-mates any more, thankfully. While they didn't talk about the real problem, their usual conversations were back, and that was enough for the time being. The grouchy Rose that was secluded and stuck to herself was so uncommon and didn't suit her at all, so seeing her smile, and for it to be genuine, was great (even if it wasn't directed at her former-idol). While they didn't get together to watch Nino's interviews any more, Marinette instead made baked treats of the blonde's choosing for them to nibble on when they watched a film.

Marinette narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Not if it involves me saying something embarrassing again.”

“Nicknames are very natural, I'll have you know.” He sniffed.

“I'm sure,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Go for it, then. Let's see how long you can go for without uttering a pun.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, pulling her closer to his chest. “Just spoken?”

“No,” Marinette clarified, feeling her lips curl into a smirk. “No typing or even miming them. If you're going to suffer, it's going to be fully.”

“My, you're a cruel one.”

She leaned forward, pressing a chase kiss to his cheek—that was void of stubble—before retreating before he could pursue further. “I'll finally have some peace from your terrible sense of humour—but what will you get out of this?” Marinette questioned, grinning widely at him. While there wasn't actually venom in her words, as she was usually pleasantly exasperated with his puns or simply baffled that he thought they were good at all, she genuinely wondered what he was hoping to get out of it.

As it turned out, he was looking for the best possible outcome. “How about a small reward a day?” Adrien requested at first, raising his eyebrows when he noticed her dubious look. “Fine, I'll correct myself. What about one kiss per day?”

She poked his nose briefly with her index finger. “I haven't seen you for weeks, Adrien. It would just add up so my lips would hurt.”

“Fine.” He huffed, leaning forward—and downwards slightly—to press their foreheads together. “I wouldn't want to force you to kiss me either. Can I just earn pictures of you instead?”

She blinked. “Everyday?”

“Well, that's the goal.” Adrien grinned widely, bumping their noses against each other before pulling away, allowing her to rest her chin against his shoulder. “As nice as the _Ladyblog_ is, I'd much prefer pictures that are only intended for my eyes.” At that comment, however, warmth blossomed along her cheeks as she took his words to mean _private_ things, only for him. And from the widened eyes and lips that parted, not quite making a sound at first, Adrien was just as surprised, too. “I-I didn't mean like _that—_ not saying that I wouldn't want that—”

Marinette really tried not to laugh. The corners of her mouth curved upwards, though, displaying her amusement from him fumbling over his words.

“I just want to see you doing the normal things, okay?” the blond whispered. The blush upon her was mirrored on him, and seeing it made her smile grow. “Even if it's you with toothpaste around your face, I'm completely okay with that.”

She kept a straight face. “You want me foaming at the mouth for you.”

“ _You_!” Adrien said suddenly, reaching down and jabbing her lightly in the side. “You can't make bad jokes when you're trying to seal away my great sense of humour.”

“I never said you can't do jokes,” the dark-haired female quipped, raising her eyebrows as she wormed away from his teasing hands. “Just not the puns—your _favourite_.”

He jutted his lower lip out dramatically. “And will I be rewarded with your foamy mouth?”

“...Do I have to leave the toothbrush in my mouth, too?” she questioned, shrugging her shoulders. “It might be a bit hard, but I think I'll manage.”

There wasn't much left to talk about before they busied themselves once more. Marinette greedily accepted the offered lips, applying pressure and having uneven breaths escape every time they pulled back slightly. She played with the hairs on the nape of his neck, feeling the soft tresses and admiring how nice they felt to tug. As his tongue languidly trailed over her bottom lip, Marinette tightened her grip, allowing him access in the process; the result was a low groan from him, that was muffled by her mouth, but loud enough to hear nonetheless. Marinette grinned against him—surely he could feel her the happiness and smugness she was emitting—and he responded by pulling her closer upon the couch.

They broke away with a gasp. She trailed kisses upon his jaw as she repositioned herself upon his lap, knees on either side, and applied her weight rather than hovering awkwardly. If she had been aware of the pulse within her head that was loud and demanding before, then when she settled down and felt slight friction between her legs, then the unsteady thrum that was suddenly amplified made her certain that the blush across her cheeks was from arousal. Adrien pulled her closer, chests pressing against each other, and she bit gently into the flesh of his neck, being rewarded with a strained breath.

His hands trailed underneath her shirt once more, cooler than they had been and causing her to shiver from the vast difference, and she placed teasing kisses along his jawline as she made her way back to face him. After a chaste kiss upon his lips, Marinette leaned her head back ever so little, just to look him in his ever-green eyes to gauge his reaction.

There was a silent question there—was it too soon to continue?

The answer came soon after that. She looked at his reddened lips, feeling pride that she'd accomplished that, and the gentle smile that appeared upon them; the soft dimples upon his cheeks, the flush across his skin that mirrored her own, before, finally, peeking up to see the endearing look within his eyes. There was no hesitation there, not really, but the message was clear once more—he wasn't going to push her. The stilled hips and lack of movement from his lower-half proved that, too, and she beamed right back at him.

She shifted, rearranging her position upon him.

Adrien stiffened, noticeable enough for her to look at him with a curious expression. His lips were pressed into a tight line, corners still upturned and looking quite humorous, and she quickly deduced the problem when she paid attention to the pressure against her. Well, it was flattering, to say the least. With a mischievous expression, she wriggled once more, pretending to attempt to become more comfortable, and purposefully pressed against him in the process.

He audibly sucked in a breath.

It was empowering in a way. Marinette bumped her nose gently against his, wrapping both of her arms lazily around his shoulders while keeping eye contact, and tilted her head slightly to the side in an inquiring way. “Adrien?”

He blinked.

Glancing once more at the redness across his cheeks, the dark-haired female merely smiled in return. With the reassurance that he wasn't going to push her away, she shifted her hips, taking in a deep breath from the teasing friction that was created. The arms that were wrapped around her stiffened, too, and the fingertips that had been pressed against her gripped at her warm skin, nails gently scratching the surface and acting as a reminder that it was really happening. She gnawed at her lower lip in slight self-consciousness as she rolled her hips, knowing full well that her underwear was growing damp at the rate that they were going, and she idly wondered whether she'd worn a pair that matched her brassiere at all—because if he did happen to see them, the very thought of them not being a pair seemed important at that moment. The ridiculous trail of thought was forgotten when he pulled her closer, nose sliding to connect with his cheek rather than press against his once more, and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

Marinette welcomed the contact, gripping at the golden tresses of his hair as they applied pressure against each other's lips; gone were the tentative, gentle and uncertain movements that had been there when they'd first wandered into her apartment, and instead they seemed more confident and sure. And as she gently bit into his lower lip, taking the initiative, she sighed happily as their tongues met. The loud breaths were replaced with the occasional moan, and as Adrien embraced her and rutted against her, the pulse between her legs increasing from the sudden attention, she wasn't at all embarrassed as a noise of enjoyment escaped her. There wasn't any space for self-consciousness any longer with what they were doing; she was too preoccupied with shifting her hips to meet his movements, enjoying the feel of his clothed arousal against hers, and fully embracing the offered pleasure.

When her moan wasn't completely muffled, the answering shift of his lower-half proved that he enjoyed hearing the noises.

She wished she'd worn a skirt.

They separated with a gasp, lips glistening and considerably more swollen than before, and she opened her eyes and blinked in surprise, having not anticipated the sudden halt. His grip on her hips tightened, causing her to still in uncertainty, and the teeth that were biting into his lower lip certainly weren't her own at that point. Adrien looked flushed with hair that was in a disarray—that was purely her doing—and she didn't protest when he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

She recovered with deep breaths, running her hands gently through his hair in a comforting move. The lack of movement made it abundantly clear that her underwear was more than damp, and she was thankful that it wasn't made of flimsy lace that would've caused her jeans to be stained, too. His arousal was still pressed against hers, warmth offered through the material, but she didn't make any movements to continue.

It was some moments later when he finally said something, and it came out in a groan. “You're driving me crazy here, Marinette.”

Well, wasn't that a good thing? “The feeling's very much reciprocated,” she responded teasingly, pulling on his hair gently.

“I-I just need a minute.” His voice was breathy, hoarse, and knowing that she was the cause of it caused her cheeks to flame even more so. The realisation of his words hit after, and she stilled, trying not to worsen the situation. They hadn't been undressed, or even doing anything too adventurous, yet the blond having to take a breather to _recover_ made the dilemma between her own legs more than understandable.

All that was going through her head, however, was, “If that's what you'd want as a reward per day, I really wouldn't mind.”

His body shook against her with laughter, and she could feel the vibrations from their close proximity. “Something else other than our lips would hurt if the amount you owed added up greatly,” Adrien pointed out. She could feel his grin against her neck as he moved closer, placing soft kisses upon her exposed skin. “I'd never want to force you to do anything, though. You're always welcome to push me away.”

“I'd rather push you down,” she blurted.

“My, aren't you rather suave today?” the blond teased, teasingly biting her neck. “I'm just happy that I finally got to see you.”

Well, she wouldn't have minded if he wanted to see more of her, too (somehow, she didn't end up blurting that out as well). She ruffled his hair affectionately, knowing that it was probably a lost cause to fix at that moment because of her wandering hands. “I'm happy, too,” Marinette confessed softly. “I'm still surprised that you want to date me at all, if I'm being honest.”

“Stop that,” he reprimanded, biting her harder than before and causing her to gasp aloud in surprise. “I won't be having any of that self-conscious talk here, Marinette. You'repur—” Adrien cut off abruptly, nuzzling his face further into her exposed skin. “I said _nothing_.”

“What was that?” Marinette sang, sounding gleeful. “Was that an _almost_ pun, boyfriend?”

He huffed. “Absolutely not—even if we haven't started our bet yet.”

“That's right.” She hummed, fiddling with his hair. “We haven't decided what you have to do when you lose, eh? Good thing it hasn't began yet. You would've lost horribly in less than an hour.” And as her thoughts flickered to what she could possibly claim as a reward, the results were mostly age appropriate because of their current positions. “What will I have you do, I wonder?”

His tongue trailed the skin that he'd bit before, soothing the marked area and causing a shiver when he withdrew slightly to breathe upon it. “Anything you desire, my lady.”

“Well, I very much desire you,” Marinette announced unabashedly with a grin, “but I don't quite think you're ready to show me you using those soft hands on yourself—especially because of the lotion you've mentioned before.”

“Goodness,” Adrien murmured, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Where's the shy girl that had trouble saying she wanted to kiss me gone?”

The laugh that escaped her was genuine, short and breathy. “If we're going to be correct here, then I typed it.” The nip upon her neck caused her to gnaw on her own lower lip, trying to restrain the sudden moan from the burst of pleasure that had appeared. “I find it hard to be terribly embarrassed when I think of the awful puns that have slipped through your lips. Every single one of them is an ego boost for me.”

“That stings.”

She tugged lightly on his hair. “Are you capable of feeling shame? Sometimes I have to wonder.”

His laughter tickled her neck, making her squirm slightly and press against his arousal in the process. Marinette stilled for a moment, gulping.

“You've probably already seen my worst moments,” he replied, amusement clear in his voice. “It would be very time-consuming to think about all the embarrassing things I've done; I much prefer to just accept my stupidity as a fact of life.”

“Your worst moments?” Marinette questioned, running her fingers through the golden tresses in a soothing manner. “Honestly, I can't think of a single negative thing about you—I even find myself fond of what could be considered negative traits.”

He hummed. “Well, that's reassuring. And to think that this relationship happened because you managed to hit me in the face.”

“With a _ball_ , Adrien—not to mention that I don't even remember that. You could be making it up for all I know.” Marinette huffed, pushing him lightly by the shoulders so they could look at each other once more, noses almost brushing against each other. “ _This_ relationship started because your cousin mentioned me in an interview.”

The blond blinked. “Well, you've never really looked at my interviews, right?” At the lack of response, his lips curled into a brief smirk that appeared quite smug. “I've mentioned about my childhood best friend over the years, but I doubt you've seen that at all. Most assumed the girl—yes, I specified—to be Chloé. I didn't specifically say your name because I thought you were ignoring my letters.”

“I'm still surprised that you believed me at all,” she murmured softly, hands trailing down to grasp the fabric of his shirt nearby his navel lazily. “You had no reason to, Adrien... I-I still don't quite understand why you do.”

“You—I never thought you'd be the type to spitefully ignore me, Marinette. I admit I was pretty peeved when I was younger—which was apparent in my rather emotional early teenage years—but I don't resent you for it.” His voice was soft, gentle, and held no spite which caused the guilt to tug at her heart. She _knew_ that they had never arrived; she'd collected the mail in the mornings while her parents baked more often than not, especially when she was home-schooled for the first year after her accident. “It's not as though I could walk off and place my letters into the nearest postbox.”

For a moment, Marinette furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at his words. “You... didn't deliver them yourself?”

From there on, it started to become clear what had happened. Adrien explained tentatively that he hadn't thought of the possibility, and because he'd only just brought it up with his last meeting with his father, he hadn't connected the dots. Gabriel had assumed she would use the young impressionable mind of Adrien and somehow take advantage of him, despite being just as young, and therefore his mail had been checked before they were sent from then on.

It didn't sit well with her. There was an uncomfortable feeling swirling in her stomach as she thought about the fact that their ruined friendship had been because of one man, one that cared in a very paranoid way for his only child, yet she couldn't find it in herself to stay mad for too long. Even if he had reached out before her accident, the small letters wouldn't have been enough to rekindle their relationship from afar. The anger fizzled out, and she found herself feeling sympathetic towards the sheltered child that he'd become when he was separated from his cousin, along with his only friend (besides Chloé at that point).

She wetted her lips. “I hope this doesn't offend you, but your father sounds quite controlling.”

“Controlling?” Adrien repeated, raising his eyebrows. The smile across his lips wasn't sincere at all, and it didn't show the dimples of his cheeks. “That doesn't cover half of it, honestly. My chauffeur is supposed to have a double job as a bodyguard, too, because he's so damn paranoid.”

“Oh.” She didn't know quite what to say there to express her thoughts. While she'd assumed that his chauffeur had been from his own choice, the mention of him acting as a bodyguard, too, was quite strange. All the times she'd seen the blond walking around the company—which hadn't been that many, but it had been over a few weeks—the chauffeur hadn't been with him. At the mention of that, though, she recalled that Nino had nothing of the sort. There was no one escorting his cousin around, and it made no sense why he didn't receive the same amount of paranoia. “At least you get to live alone, right?”

At that mention, he laughed (and his smile finally reached his ever-green eyes). “As alone as living in a hotel can be.”

“You live in a hotel?”

“Yes,” Adrien confirmed. “The same one as Nino—thankfully it's not owned by the Bourgeois family. Their hotel is far too popular and attracts more attention than I'm comfortable with.”

Chloé's family owned a large hotel near her home, where they lived in, too, and it had raised in popularity since Andre Bourgeois had finished his time as mayor (despite the backlash for his performance). It was where Alya's mother worked as a chef, and where multiply high-class parties were held in the large bar and lounge area on the first floor. It was no surprise that some rooms would be rented out for individuals to live in, though it was new information that Adrien wasn't too fond of the high-end hotel.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Alya had been to Nino's apartment—that's what it had been referred to as, and it hadn't been revealed at all where about it was located. The hotel had to allow pets, as Plagg travelled between the two rooms, and it was quite spacious because of the view that the webcasts allowed.

Adrien picked up on her contemplation. “You're curious.”

“Of course.” She blinked. “I'm trying to deduce where this mystical home could be; it's somewhere where your cat could be allowed. I haven't paid much attention to the hotels nearby, sadly.”

He laughed at her musing. “How about I take you there instead?”

“To your apartment?” Marinette asked, sounding more high-pitched than normal from the sudden question. “I— _really?_ I'd completely understand if I don't want to, I-I mean if _you_ don't.”

“Why wouldn't I?” His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her into a clumsy embrace where their chests were pressed against each other. “You've been more than accommodating with letting me inside your home, so why wouldn't I return the favour?”

There had never been the thought to be embarrassed of her home. It was a cheap little apartment that the three of them could afford with money left over; the pipes were noisy when water was used, the couch was awfully lumpy and uncomfortable, and the hallway was quite narrow so two couldn't fit through the door at the same time. At the same time, she'd grown fond of their tiny home, simply because it was something personal for them to share. On the other hand, Adrien's was bound to be spacious, complete with proper pipes and expensive furniture that probably didn't belong to him in the long run, and she doubted that there was a lot of personal decorations since he travelled a lot.

After her musing, she teased, “At least you didn't have the gall to say I invited you here—you turn up like a stray cat. It would be terribly rude to ignore you.”

“I'll have you know I haven't been a stray since you've given me attention,” Adrien commented, bumping his nose briefly against hers. “So, would you like to come over? I wouldn't mind taking you back with me, if you wanted.”

She shifted on his lap, cheeks still burning from their close contact. “I—of course I would,” Marinette breathed, leaning in as he squeezed her waist fondly. “When are you thinking of? It'll probably be weeks before we see each other again with your schedule.”

He made a humming noise which meant he was thinking in an exaggerated manner. “You could meet me there after a shoot, though. We'd be able to see each other more often then.”

“Wouldn't that be late?” Or early in the morning when she was usually busy. From what she could make sense of his schedule, nothing was booked with his times in mind. Their bedtime calls were never at a set time, and sometimes she'd wake up to the sound of her cell phone after an hour or so of sleep.

“Well, you could always stay over,” Adrien offered, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. “Only if you want to—I'm not pushing you for anything. I'm just trying to say we'd be... alone there.”

Licking her lips, Marinette pondered the offer. While it was true that they would be alone, therefore didn't have to mind their loud chatter when others were busy and trying to concentrate, but it also meant that they would be solely in the company of each other without interruption. When they'd been on their first date, Marinette had spent the two evenings at her parents' home, so there was no enclosed space for them to take advantage of (the closest they'd come to was the couch they were on right at that moment, or within his car while his chauffeur and bodyguard promptly ignored her presence).

And then she realised his words—that he wouldn't mind taking her _back_ with him. “D-do you mean _now_?” Marinette stuttered, portraying the sudden nerves that had erupted. It was silly, really, that from all their time together and contact, the very thought of being alone in _his_ home had her stomach churning from the possibilities. “I—”

“Whenever,” Adrien chimed in, dimples showing as he smiled at her voice that had become slightly higher-pitched. “I could always come pick you up.”

“No.” She placed a brief kiss on his lips that time. “We spoke about this before, right? I'm not going to use you for anything unless I _have_ to. I'm not going to take advantage of you.”

He blinked. “It's just a ride, Marinette. It's not like I'm offering to buy you a personal taxi service.”

“It's a slippery slope,” the dark-haired female replied adamantly. “I refuse to do that to you, no matter how little. If my legs are injured or I've lost my wallet, then I'll think about taking up your offer. But it's only then.” While it had been her pride that had stopped her accepting the offer before, the mention of Gabriel thinking that she'd take advantage of him when they were children was swirling within her mind. If he caught wind that his son's girlfriend was using his status at all, then it wouldn't have ended prettily (even if they had never met). “I'm with you for _you_ ; not for anything else.”

A hand that was embracing her raised to her neck, caressing the skin and brushing against the hairs at the nape of her neck. “You're worrying,” he observed, evergreen eyes staring with his brow furrowed slightly. “Marinette, I'm offering this to you because I _want_ to do it. I don't feel like you're forcing me to do things for you.” It seemed as though he understood her inner turmoil instantly, and the surprise was clearly shown upon her expression. “Stop being so paranoid,” Adrien murmured, gripping her hair lightly. “All of my offers are things normal boyfriends would do, right?”

“I don't quite think you count as normal,” she muttered in reply.

He snorted. “Think of it this way, then; if I offer something outlandish, just tell me I'm getting out of hand, okay?”

It wasn't too clear what that would be, though. The relationships of her friends were usually rocky and involved more drama than she was used to, and her closest friend was currently dating his cousin, so Alya was clearly experiencing the same difference in their statuses.

“You can buy me a coffee, not the whole shop,” she attempted.

“I'd still love you if you were tubby after eating all that,” Adrien said with a laugh. “You're more than welcome to buy me things, too, you know? If you want to try and keep it even so I'm not overly spoiling you.”

Their conversation dissolved into silly nonsense once more, that she was quite fond of, and during the chatter she remained firmly seated upon his lap, arms wrapped around each other and noses brushing constantly. Although they didn't kiss for more than a few moments—most likely not to make their interaction purely sexual—there was still a close kinship as they spoke. Marinette shook with laughter at times, and the blond grinned with fondness when he recounted some instances of when they were little. She'd heard parts of their interactions from what her parents had known, but hearing them from his point of view, especially when they sneaked into her parents' kitchen and left flour-prints everywhere, was entertaining.

Marinette had her face pressed against his neck as she stifled her laughter when someone entered.

“Fucking hell!”

She almost fell off his lap from recoiling, head turning to gape in surprise at the newcomer. Alya was standing there with her hands on her jeans-clad hips, red curls messy and windswept around her face, with an exasperated expression.

“You have a damn room for a reason, Marinette!” she chastised in good humour, throwing her hands up for emphasis.

With cheeks burning from embarrassment, the dark-haired female stood up from her position, hands brushing the non-existent lint from her clothing. “I didn't know anyone would be home yet!”

“That doesn't mean you have to grind on each other in the _kitchen_ ,” Alya teased, placing her belongings onto the empty countertops. “And I'll have you know, I'm actually later than usual. There was a queue in the store.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly.

Behind her, Adrien laughed off his surprise. “Sorry, Alya.”

“As you should be,” the red-head responded, huffing afterwards. “Honestly, what if it had been Rose? She might've thrown something at you two— _I'm_ the civil one in this household.”

“Only when you're getting some,” Marinette muttered, tucking strands of hair behind her ear to distract herself. “S-so you finished classes already?”

There was small talk between them, and it was certainly nice that they all seemed to get along (well, if Alya didn't then it would've been awkward with her boyfriend at times). After the blond politely declined the invitation for dinner with them that evening, he collected his belongings and started towards the door, placing the overly large scarf around his shoulders once more despite the warming weather.

There was a lot of teasing once he'd gone.

-x-

 _'Coccinette_  
_to Bulle-Chat_  
 _Subject: Teurgoule_

_Adrien,_

_Thanks for the new name suggestion._

_Yours,  
Marinette._ '

-x-

' _Nathaniel Kurtzberg:  
_ _Would you like to have coffee sometime? It seems we have a lot in common, more than I originally thought._ '

Marinette blinked at her cell phone screen, surprised that Nathaniel had contacted her first at all.

The filming for the television show was postponed for more than a few weeks, and although she had a lot of questions as to why it had happened, she never bothered Nathaniel via cell phone. Even if they'd exchanged numbers, it hadn't been for his work. Marinette sat through the classes that he was supposed to be in with no desk-mate beside her for weeks, knowing that he was absent from other classes, too, and didn't do much about it. She knew that he took exams and gave in projects when needed, and that the professors understood the reason behind his disappearances throughout the months.

Alya was still baffled, however. They chatted when they were alone and the red-head mentioned that he never appeared in classes, and mentioned that she wouldn't know how to approach him if he did appear at all. Silencieux was one of her idols—if he could've been classed as that—and knowing that she'd known him for over a year in person and ignored his presence must've been quite overwhelming to think about. While Marinette had blinked and shown her surprise on her face at the time, she didn't dwell on the topic when she was alone—it was just another person nearby to her that led a successful life (with wasn't very rare at that point).

It seemed that out of all of her friends, their household were the ones that had barely made it with their careers. Rose was lost and continuing her education to please her mother, Alya had success with her blog that she couldn't put her actual name on without outing Marinette in the process, and Marinette's own success went as far as the internship with her actual name. It seemed that the only way to further her pursuit of success was to reveal herself—but that was daunting just to think about. There was a reason why Nathaniel hadn't done it (perhaps the same reason why he barely spoke in person), and knowing that she could perhaps be pestered in her personal life because of it had her gulping.

On the other hand, it would mean that the public would view her relationship with Adrien on less of a severe level difference. Would his father approve of she wasn't someone of no status?

Goodness, she was thinking of his _father_. They hadn't even been dating that long; just over a month and she was horribly paranoid of his disapproval. Of course their eventual meeting would never go over well; she was the child that he'd shut out in the beginning, fearing for her taking advantage of young Adrien. There was a chance he'd repeat his previous actions and disapprove all over again.

There wasn't much he could do about it, though. Adrien's chauffeur barely had any say in his actions, and he already lived alone—

She needed to _stop_.

Marinette ran her hands through her hair.

“Hey, Marinette,” a voice called from behind, moments before a hand tugged lightly on her shoulder to cause her to still.

Bewildered, she turned around to see the cerulean eyes, that were covered in precise smokey make-up that never looked sourly out of place, looking at her with a neutral expression. Chloé's face was a mask of no emotions, not portraying her original intention for calling her attention to her.

With lips in a thin line, never tilting to express her mood on either side, the blonde continued to say, “I'm not sure if you've heard from Adrien yet, but I'm having a gathering this upcoming Saturday.”

“Okay,” Marinette replied slowly, not understanding the point straight away.

She was supposed to, though, from the sudden dumbfounded look that flickered across the taller female's face before it was smoothed over again. “That means you're invited,” Chloé clarified tartly.

That was certainly a surprise. Aurore had been the cause of her first invitation—while she received none in their first year of university—and Chloé certainly knew about the extent of her relationship. Was it a hand-in-hand invitation, or was she extending it in a offering of getting to know each other? “Oh,” was all she could say at first before she cleared her throat, hoping to sound more coherent afterwards. “I-I wasn't expecting that, honestly. Thank you. I'll try and make it, I guess.”

Chloé was staring at her with slightly narrowed eyes—and she noted that there was a fleck of mascara caught in the corner of her eye that wasn't supposed to be there—and it seemed as though she was considering how to reply. The two of them had stopped awkwardly in the hallway, other students fluttering past them without batting an eye at the odd duo that were conversing, and she couldn't help but think that it was, perhaps, one of their most civil conversations to date. When the blonde had first invited her, back when Nathaniel had been missing one afternoon, there was still distance and awkward interactions but they had certainly improved in the passing months.

She was disillusioned if she thought Chloé wanted to get to know her for her, though. Chloé was one of Adrien's closest friends, so, of course, she'd consider Marinette in a different light for a while and try to decide for herself whether she was worthy; which was quite silly, really, considering that Chloé had already asserted that she cared about Adrien previously.

“No invitation to show this time?” Marinette questioned.

Chloé held her gaze blankly for a few seconds. It was unnerving at first. “No,” she finally replied somewhat quietly, and the answer itself was another surprise. Chloé _loved_ her invitations, especially when the security staff had to be shown them to allow her guests onto the premises. “Adrien is identification enough for you.”

She resisted the urge to snort.

“Al—okay, thank you,” she stumbled over her response, cheeks warming in embarrassment from the stare. And before she could think of the repercussions, she blurted, “I really appreciate that you're willing to invite me despite our differences.”

Chloé arched an eyebrow. “It seems we have something in common now.”

Someone. “I—yes,” Marinette replied awkwardly, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “I-I'll see you there.”

With a nod of her head, Chloé set off in a different direction leaving a pondering Marinette behind in her wake. Adrien certainly hadn't mentioned it but she wasn't going to complain; he was busy, their conversations often trailed off somewhere silly, and she was certain that it wasn't something to be angry about.

She wasn't going to be needy—if he wanted her there, then she'd come. From her knowledge the only friends of his that knew of their relationship were Nino and Chloé, while three of hers knew, and it wasn't a titbit of information he was going to reveal to those that he couldn't trust. If there was going to be an individual that loved to gossip present, then she'd rather avoid them and the upcoming annoyance that would happen afterwards. The mail she was receiving already was a nuisance, and possibly having any more would've caused her to grip her hair in frustration more often than not.

Her plan was thwarted on Thursday, however.

Aurore had strut towards her outside the gates of their university, her high-heeled boots creating enough noise to alert her to the upcoming figure behind before arms were wrapped around her shoulders and pulling her into a tight embrace. Marinette had chortled in joy from the sudden affection, turning around and smothering the blonde with her own tightened arms and laughing into the flowing golden locks (that smelled suspiciously like perfume).

The blonde had directed them to their ever-present coffee-shop that they frequented, ordering their drinks and acquiring a table without much trouble, and happily chatted about different topics. Marinette couldn't hold back her laughter—which came after she'd already swallowed some of her beverage, thankfully—when Aurore took it upon herself to invite the dark-haired female to Chloé's that upcoming weekend. The hilarity came from the fact that Aurore was certain that she hadn't been invited yet because of Chloé's stubbornness, along with Adrien's schedule, so when she wiped her damp mirth-filled eyes and explained in a breathy voice that Chloé had already done so a few days previously, the female across from her narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“ _Really_?” Aurore questioned, crossing her arms beneath her bosom. “And how, exactly, did that happen?”

“The same as this conversation with you—she forcefully manhandled me,” she quipped.

Aurore shot her a flat look. “You're not becoming friends, are you?”

She blinked. “Isn't that what you've been wanting for the past year?”

“Fuck off.” The blonde wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “I may have been all for your friendship before, but now that you're talking behind my back I'm having second thoughts.”

“...We're not even talking about _you_ ,” Marinette pointed out, trying not to laugh at the disgruntled expression on her friend's face. “My, are you becoming jealous?”

“As much as it embarrasses me to say so, I think I might really be if you two start having coffee dates together without me,” she responded, curling her upper lip to reflect her words. “You were kinda just mine, you know? Now with Chloé _finally_ opening her eyes and realising you're not so bad, I'm going to have to share you with everyone.”

Although the words were exaggerated, it was clear that there was some layer of truth to them. Marinette considered herself if they had swapped roles and could fully understand the sudden frustration, but it was bound to happen if she began dating someone's best friend; that person had to finally acknowledge the one that they had never been too fond of, just to not offend their friend in the process. She was simply thankful that her relationship with Chloé had never been full of arguments or heated words further than the occasional curse.

With a small smile, Marinette replied, “You'll be the one I always have a date with here.”

Aurore snorted. “This is our sacred place.”

“I always knew you valued our relationship.”

“Of course, darling.” She grinned. “When you become famous, I'll be the one the reporters will be flocking to so they can hear about our love life; forget your boyfriend.”

 _When_ , not if. It was inevitable that her relationship with Adrien would be revealed and have attention drawn to her, and it was her choice whether it would be for being his girlfriend or for other reasons.

Revealing herself as Lady would only add on extra attention and strain, perhaps causing her performance at university to suffer because of it.

So, with a lopsided smile, Marinette commented, “Don't you mean if? I'll be the best kept secret.”

“Good luck with that, then,” the blonde rolled her cerulean eyes in amusement. “There's going to be some buzz when I start acting again, so just being outside with me would cause some eyes to look at you.”

A teasing remark left her lips before she could think better of it. “It'll also mean Kim will want to know you again, eh?”

The resulting whack to her arm caused her to yelp loudly and draw attention to them.

-x-

She'd arranged to meet Nathaniel at the beginning of the weekend, before she was, maybe, due at Chloé's make-shift party that evening. Marinette brushed any remaining flour off of her jeans and button-up white shirt, making sure there were no specks of her morning activities with Alya were remaining. As it turned out, the invitation to Nino had been extended to her red-headed room-mate, and she wanted to make a good impression by baking something sweet to offer the other guests (or, rather; she hoovered while Marinette did the baking).

Placing a small bag upon her back, that was pastel-coloured and one of her favourites, she pulled the hair by her crown into a ponytail as she allowed the door to close behind her. Rose was still desperately trying to convince the three of them to have matching trinkets for their keys, but with the amount that the blonde almost lost them, she hadn't been able to convince them quite yet. She'd even attempted to place them on their keys by herself while they were sleeping a few times in the past, and Marinette had been thoroughly confused by the googly-eyed creature that had found itself in her possession one morning.

Passing the mail without bothering to pick it up, Marinette felt a sense of relief from knowing that she didn't have to hide the mild harassment any longer. It was more stressful than she had expected, and Rose was having fun attempting to rip them up in the evenings over dinner (complete with grunts and disapproving noises).

She fiddled with her cell phone momentarily before calling the one entitled ' _Prince Chat_ '. After a brief inquiry before, Marinette had mused that it seemed like a lot of trouble to have two cell phones, and Adrien had explained with a laugh that the one they'd conversed on first was his personal, and the other was for business deals and such.

“Yes, how may I help you?” he answered, sounding slightly out of breath.

For the past few days he'd been attempting to mix up his answering phrase, but with no luck thus far. Marinette stifled a laugh, the only outwards reaction that she was amused by his words being the slightly audible breath through her nose. “Sorry, did I call at a bad time?”

“No, not at all,” the blond attempted to assure her, though the breathless quality of his voice was still present. “It was beautiful timing, actually. I just finished a shoot and was changing back into my previous clothing.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “You forgot to say you had a shoot last night.”

“I was trying to keep this one a secret,” Adrien explained with a laugh, voice stable once more. “It'll be a big surprise when it's out, okay? So just wait patiently until then like a good girl.”

The dark-haired female rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir,” she replied sarcastically. “Is it appropriate to ask if you're fully dressed right now?”

By the look from a middle-aged man on the street that she was passing, it wasn't. Grinning at him in apology, she wasn't offended when the stranger promptly ignored her and walked away faster.

“My shirt's not buttoned right now, but otherwise I'm almost decent.” Holding back a flirtatious retort as she walked past someone else on the pleasantly warm street, it didn't take long for him to continue despite her lack of a reply. “And before you ask, yes, I'm beside others right now. I can't give you a picture just yet.”

She snorted. “I wasn't going to ask!”

“I'm sure.” It was clear that his lips were curling into a smirk, tone bordering on arrogant. “You're going to go and meet your friend around now, right?”

“Oh, yes.” Adrien was bound to have met Nathaniel already from working, but she doubted that her sometime class-mate wanted it revealed that they knew each other outside of that. “I'm trying to figure out where we're meeting right now. I think I might be late.”

Though she couldn't see him, she suspected that he rolled his eyes. “Are you asking me to give you directions?”

“No, not really.” She chortled. “Nathaniel just gave me some pretty vague directions and described the paint of the café. I'm sure I'll find it someday.”

Adrien hummed; the noise was exaggerated and teasing. “Can you tell me what you're wearing so I can tell officers if you go missing?”

She huffed, making sure it was audible. “If I could, I'd hit you right now. He's not luring me away to murder me in an alley.”

“How can you be so sure?” From the shaking of his voice, it was obvious he was trying not to burst into laughter and give away his amusement. “I'm just worried about my girlfriend right now, especially since she won't let me give her a lift anywhere.”

“To be fair, it wouldn't be _you_ ,” Marinette retorted, “it would be your lovely chauffeur who I'm pretty sure would adamantly refuse to look me in the eyes.”

Although it was mostly a joke, she had noticed that his father's employee was silent, brooding, and simply looked over Adrien rather than giving advice constantly (and that was probably why their relationship worked well, since he didn't have someone else taking the role of a somewhat father figure as a constant presence in his life). Adrien laughed at her comment and proceeded to joke about it, too, and she knew that she didn't hit a nerve there. They conversed as she walked through the streets, checking the different coloured buildings and looking to see whether they were the right kind of shop. It took a while before she found the terracotta-coloured café which had black beams and a chalk sign on the pavement.

Tucking loose strands behind her ear, Marinette announced with a confused voice, “I think I'm here?”

“You really don't sound certain about that.”

“Well, I'll peek in and see if he's in there. If not, I'll just message and ask where to go,” she proposed, musing aloud. “It won't be too hard to figure out.”

There was rustling and muffled voices on the other end, and then from the sudden sound of an engine she assumed that he'd made it outside to breathe some fresh air (hopefully with his shirt buttoned up by then). “You still have a chance to tell me what you're wearing.”

After a forced fake laugh, that sounded sarcastic to her own ears, Marinette replied, “You had a toothbrush picture this morning, just like you wanted—you can't have my current outfit, too. That just seems wholly one-sided since I'm probably not going to receive anything until later.”

“Well, you'll be seeing me later instead,” Adrien announced clearly. “Isn't that good enough?”

She blinked.

“Oh,” she replied dumbly. “You mean...”

“Marinette?” There was confusing in his voice, and she was sure his eyebrows were knitted together to match his tone. “Unless you've changed your mind, I thought we were going to Chloé's together?”

Well, he hadn't specifically asked her about it—she was sure she hadn't fallen asleep during their nightly call and somehow agreed during her snooze. “I... I wasn't sure?” she said instead, testing the waters. “I know a lot of your friends will be there, and I didn't want to assume anything.”

“You—” Adrien started, still sounding perplexed. “I guess this is my fault for not bringing it up sooner; Chloé assured me that you'd agreed to go already. It just didn't click that it was tonight until this morning, and I didn't really have time.”

“Oh,” she said again, surprised. “I didn't want to push you for it.”

He made a disapproving noise. “Marinette, it's just meeting some of my friends. It's not going to cause the apocalypse to introduce my girlfriend to people I know.”

“If you're sure...” Marinette trailed off, fiddling with her strands of hair once more.

“Of course.” And with those words, she smiled. She planned to just let it pass and not worry about it if he hadn't asked her—though he still hadn't—as it wasn't something that would break their relationship. In the long run, it would've been a simple detail that was insignificant. “Alya will be there, too, so you can drag her away and hide if you're wanting to.”

After a blink, she asked, “Really?”

“Nino's asked her already, so I assume so?”

“I was questing whether you'd really let me wander off if I felt like it.”

Adrien huffed. “Well, I'm not your keeper.”

They hung up with kind words, and once she'd opened the heavy door and glanced around the café, she spotted a mop of shining red-coloured hair that was pulled back into a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck.

It wasn't a hairstyle he had often—usually sticking to allowing it to be loose and cover one of his blue-coloured eyes at times—though it complimented his somewhat delicate features and smooth skin. Marinette approached slowly, realising quickly that he was absorbed in sketching within his sketchbook and hadn't noticed her approaching footsteps.

With a smile, Marinette tapped him on his shirt-clad shoulder and guffawed when he jumped and almost dragged his pencil across his paper clumsily.

His eyes were wide in surprise when he turned around and saw her, then they narrowed slightly at the mischievous expression on her face. “Hello,” Nathaniel greeted quietly, and she was glad that he'd spoken that much at all.

“I'll buy us our drinks,” she offered, making it clear that she wasn't taking no for an answer. They were keeping each other's secrets and he was one of the reasons that she was maybe advancing from a simple university student, and she was entirely grateful for it. After she'd ordered and carried their monotone-coloured mugs, that were too large and had to be held with two hands to be picked up safely, she settled in across the table on a chair that had a cushion on it.

They skirted around the subject at first. Sipping their drinks, ignoring the open sketchbook on the table and making small talk—as in, their sentences were short and awkward at first—it was a few minutes until she tucked strands behind her ear and wetted her lips in an attempt to gain some confidence.

“I want to thank you,” she started, placing her two hands back onto the warm mug. “I know you didn't know it was me, but thank you nonetheless.”

“I-I should be thanking you instead.” He cleared his throat, cheeks tinged pink. “Y-you inspired me a lot and—”

She felt her cheeks burn and quickly shook her head, attempting to grasp his attention. “Should we save ourselves the embarrassment and try and move on? We're keeping each other's secrets because of business, though I can assure you I'd keep it if we were only friends.”

Fiddling with his hair, Nathaniel pulled the tie out and pocketed it away for later. “I'm sorry I haven't been in class lately.”

“It's fine, you have a lot of work to do.” She offered him a smile. “I'm sure Alya would've had a heart attack if she saw you in hers—she's still not quite over the shock.”

His voice was quiet, barely there, but thanks to privacy and lack of customers she could hear him with ease. “I understand. I'm in the same predicament with you right now.”

“Oh.” Marinette blinked. “It's hard to connect the pictures to the version of myself that you know, I suppose.”

“I never tried to picture your face, honestly,” Nathaniel remarked, hands cupping his mug for warmth, mirroring her current stance. “And now that I've seen it, I feel...” As his cheeks coloured to match his hair, Marinette felt her own warm in unison. “I feel embarrassed that I never connected the dots.”

Marinette assured him that it shouldn't have been obvious at all, and that was her goal in the end, and the fact that she sometimes wore the same clothes that were posted in a picture that very day was far too uncommon for many people to notice. When he commented that the shop section was a smart idea, especially because of her university course, she had to agree with a small smile. Nathaniel explained tentatively that he didn't see his education getting him further than where his life was already at that point, and she felt somewhat sorry for him at first; then she remembered that he'd decided that route even after having found success in his career. Perhaps it was to make his family happy while he does his own work on the side, and as long as his grades were more than passable, they didn't seem to be concerned about him.

Their afternoon was comfortable after some time. They smiled, spoke and laughed while a few people trickled in and placed their orders, and the red-head bought the next round of drinks (despite her protests). He was still the shy Nathaniel that she'd met over a year ago, yet she felt like she was seeing a whole other person at the same time; one that wasn't too wary to _talk_ , someone that willingly offered more information about himself rather than shying away and avoiding eye contact. It was refreshing that they were open with each other, and there were only a few subjects that they hadn't touched upon that involved the both of them.

Wetting her lips once more, Marinette glanced at the other tables to make sure there was no one within hearing distance of the both of them. “Is it okay if I ask you something about work? It will be related to our personal life, so it's not completely out of the blue.”

“That's fine.” He blinked. “I can't answer a few things, especially to do with—”

“I know,” the dark-haired female assured him with a small smile. “I'm not sure if you've started recording any voice lines yet, or if you're acquainted with those you've hired...” It became clear that sounded as though she was fishing for information, so she shook her head before he could open his mouth to respond. “Have you met with Adrien yet?”

There was a furrowing of his eyebrows before he recognised the first name, asking, “Agreste?”

“I—I'm kind of... friends with him?” It came out as a question. “I'm dating him.” That sounded better, voice not quite as quivering at the end although it was still barely a notch above a whisper. “I haven't told him that we're class-mates because I didn't know if you wanted that to get out.”

Nathaniel was visibly taken aback as he processed the information. Perhaps he hadn't been reading the gossip magazines lately—well, it would've been more surprising if he had—and therefore hadn't seen the connection between them. Before she could reassure him that he was someone to trust, the red-head cleverly uttered that Adrien was under the contract not to reveal his identity to the outside world as well, then stated that he hadn't revealed that he was Silencieux yet, as there had been no sessions for them to voice their characters. It was a relief that he was giving her the chance to tell him for herself, and when their conversation turned back to banter and light topics, she laughed too loudly when Nathaniel stated that he thought Nino's personality was too ostentatious, and that was why he'd selected Adrien for the part from the samples he was given.

“I can't even remember how many of those ridiculous points I've earned in classes any more,” Marinette proclaimed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It's just been so _long_ , and I don't understand the point of them any more, too. I must've been a nuisance in class.” It seemed like a while other era when she used to mutter and reward each of them points from nice actions in class (especially since she merely looked at her in return to her words).

Nathaniel shook his head, cheeks tinged pink. “It was nice.” She'd learned by then that he flushed easily, embarrassment clear on his face and upon his ears, despite the topic of the conversation. It was amusing to see how self-conscious he became on it—especially because of the nickname Chloé had dubbed him with when they saw each other, most likely _because_ of his blushing—and she avoided pointing it out; rather, she smiled softly and silently reassured him that it was just fine. “I regret not talking to you sooner.”

“Eh,” she murmured, shrugging her shoulders. “It's a hard choice to make and it's not as though you instinctively knew that I wouldn't freak out over your career. I could've leaked it and caused hell for you.”

He wrinkled his nose, cursing the mug in his hands. “Somehow that hasn't happened yet.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, contemplating her options, Marinette decided to branch out—he was someone that understood her position, slightly, after all (plus he wouldn't tell Adrien). “Before Adrien and I starting d-dating,” she started, stumbling over her words and growing hot in the cheeks from what could've been classed as embarrassment or happiness, “someone leaked my address and name—not my cell phone number, thankfully, but it's still out there.”

He blinked, cerulean-coloured eyes looking large and surprised, and enquired whether she required police assistance. The thought caused her to pale and quickly explain that the most she'd received were a load of postcards or letters with messy scrawls upon them. Nathaniel insisted that it would only grow worse, and although she knew that he was correct, she shook her head and dismissed the topic, wanting to move on. There was no need to add the fear into her mind; if it really did increase and cause her be suspicious, then more would need to know about her situation (a harassed girlfriend of a celebrity would be quite common, but a nuisance).

When they parted, Marinette hovered by the door, unsure whether their friendship was comfortable enough to warrant a good-bye embrace; so, instead, she awkwardly touched his shoulder and laughed at her own stupidity as they said their farewells.

Imagining Chloé's face when she invited Alya into her apartment for the evening was more than enough to amuse her as she walked home. Nino hadn't broken the news to the blonde, and it was entertaining to picture the different scenarios, especially when Nino was going to be right by her side at the time.

She wasn't suspicious when she arrived on her street. There weren't any strange looking cars, individuals lurking in the nearby alleyway—that had more cardboard boxes along it than necessary—and the only reason why her lips pressed into a thin line of confusing was when she walked near enough to see that someone was taking pictures of the front entrance.

They had a hood up, cell phone in hand taking pictures—that had the sound confirming that that was indeed what they were—and were edging towards the parking area at the back, documenting their way. She took note of the black bag against their hip, strap firmly upon their right shoulder with red-and-black buttons decorating the material.

She wasn't going to ask what they were doing, they could've been taking a picture of a friend or thinking of purchasing or renting a apartment, and it wasn't within her nature to question strangers upon the street. Yet when they were alerted to her presence, head whipping around and meeting hers for a brief moment before hastily putting the cell phone away and sprinting down the street, that was when she considered running after them.

It wasn't normal to look at her and _run_. The strange behaviour combined with their attire caused warning bells to ring in her head.

-x-

There hadn't been an opportunity to talk it over with her room-mates. Alya had promptly came home after seeing her friend and dived onto Marinette's bed, prattling about her day and complaining about the snooty professor that had been in one of her lectures. They had waited for Rose before starting dinner, only for that idea to be shot down when the blonde messaged them to say that she would be staying around Alix's for that evening—the two had a growing friendship, more so than before, since the small tiff that had happened between them before.

“I doubt there'll be food there.” Marinette wrinkled her nose, looking into the mirror upon her wall as she fiddled with her hair. “We could always order something afterwards.”

The red-head snorted. “If we're not too pissed, that is.”

“If we drink on any empty stomach, we're going to be the first to fall there,” she pointed out, grumbling under her breath when a strand of hair refused to stay down. There were nerves, of course, just as there had been when she'd first been invited to Chloé's—but that was just a hand reaching out to her back then. Now, at that moment, they were surely going to ask more questions about herself, pester for information about their information—if they were the type of friends to do that—but at least she wouldn't be alone there, as Alya was surely going to feel the same torment and embarrassment at times. “Try not to make Chloé too mad, okay?”

A loud laugh was the only answer.

Assessing herself in the mirror—taking in the white shirt with the red ribbon tied around her collar, and scarlet pleated skirt—she was pleased here there were not any visible wrinkles in the material. Snatching a cardigan and a small bag to hang off of her shoulder on her way past, Marinette collected her belongings and peeked into Alya's room to see whether she was ready.

“...You do have underwear on, right?”

Bent over and busying herself with tying her leather sandles, Alya looked over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow. “I think the question is asking whether I'll have it on later, rather than now.”

“I wouldn't be surprised.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure you won't be too cold in that dress?” And it was a legitimate question; the material was slightly transparent, allowing a look at her brassiere if stared at closely enough, and floated gracefully beneath her knees. It was a modest look for her friend, the pastel green-coloured material contrasting nicely with the strands of dark-coloured hair.

“I'll steal Nino's jacket if I'm cold.” Alya waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.

Of course. “What if he had the same idea for this evening?”

“Then we'll both huddle up to you until you give in and allow us to steal your clothing,” she replied happily, sounding amused for the proposed idea. “I'm sure Adrien wouldn't mind you embracing him for body heat, especially after your little show in the kitchen.”

Her cheeks warmed instantly from the reminder. “Shut it, you. I was right beside him when you sent me a seductive picture of you—I _could've_ shown him and embarrassed you completely.”

Alya childishly stuck her tongue out before standing straight, running her hands over the material of her dress. “I'm sure he would've complimented it regardless.”

Somehow Alya's cell phone and purse had ended up in her bag, simply because she'd claimed that it was too much hassle to keep a hold of them without having pockets on her clothing. They'd locked up together—having only one set of keys for the evening—and wandered out to the curb outside, waiting for their ride to arrive. It wasn't a surprise to be informed that they'd be travelling together, so when the familiar black-coloured car stopped beside them, Marinette nodded her head in greeting through the tinted windows where she knew the quiet chauffeur (plus bodyguard, goodness) resided.

“It looks like half of us are going to be cold, then,” Nino proclaimed in greeting, stepping out of the vehicle to wrap his arms enthusiastically around his girlfriend. “I'm not removing myself until you're positively sweating.” His jeans were tight and protected him from the cold air around them, though the short sleeves on his t-shirt seemed far too light for the weather. His spectacles were on, complete with thick frames, while Alya had opted to wear her dreaded contact lenses after some deliberation for that evening.

Grinning at the sheer happiness on her friend's face, Marinette stepped around them and clambered into the car, scooting along until she was on the far side. Adrien openly lifted his arm, allowing it to rest around her shoulders and pressing her lightly against his chest.

“I'm glad that you're smart enough to dress for the weather, then I also find myself miffed that I'm missing my chance to manhandle you like those two out there,” he murmured in greeting, glancing down to meet her eyes with a lopsided smile. “You didn't get murdered earlier, eh?”

It seemed that Alya was the most dressed up out of the lot of them, which was a relief from a chest when she'd worried about the formal-looking clothing that those in attendance had worn the last time. Perhaps it was because it was only going to be those close to Adrien coming, ones he could trust to reveal their relationship without it leaking to the press. With a look at his dark jeans, shirt with rolled up sleeves and a glimpse of his collarbone being shown, she wondered when her cheeks wouldn't burn in admiration when she saw him.

Rolling her eyes, Marinette murmured, “Hello to you, too.”

She placed a chaste kiss on his lips, retreating quickly with coloured cheeks and averted eyes as she made sure that the two outside were preoccupied for the time being. Alya would have been insufferable if she'd caught them again, and she wouldn't have put it past her to bring up the kitchen encounter to Nino, which would only provide more embarrassment until she wanted to bury her face into her hands and disappear.

He didn't mind the small peck, however, and simply breathed a noise of amusement through his nose, understanding her thoughts. “I was worried about your well-being.”

“I'm just fine, thank you.” She sniffed. “And Nathaniel sends his greetings.”

Adrien blinked, uncomprehending. “Okay?”

Well, it would've never been that simple. “Silencieux is my class-mate.”

“Oh.”

And that was that. The blond nodded in understanding, she was unsure of how to respond to that, and then the couple outside climbed into the vehicle and happily engaged in conversation. Adrien's easy-going attitude was wonderful, and she was wholly thankful that there wasn't any unneeded strain on their budding relationship because of nonsense. During their journey there was teasing, jokes, and information about their days that made each other laugh, and Alya especially enjoyed mentioning how distasteful her relationship with Chloé was (even though she muttered half-hearted apologies as the two males were friends with her).

The drive was short, but not enough. “I want to know more about baby Marinette!” the red-head proclaimed, leaning over and resting her head upon Marinette's already crowded shoulder. “Did she win people over with sweets or—”

“Oh, no,” Marinette interrupted suddenly, shaking her head in disappointment. With a quick movement, she pushed her friend away for space. “We forgot the sweets from this morning.”

Alya appeared shocked for a moment before a smile curled along her lips. “I'll happily eat them later.”

“I can't tell whether your plan really was just for an after-party snack or not,” the dark-haired female muttered underneath her breath, leaning her weight onto Adrien was she glared at her room-mate. “Do you even know if you're going to be home tonight?”

It was Nino that answered. “It depends if there's any whispers of reporters outside. They sometimes appear outside when we visit Chloé, though it's not too often.” Perhaps that was why they hadn't attended the last that she had been present at, and she certainly hadn't heard rumours from Mireille about their appearance when she'd caught another's interest. “There's not going to be too many people there tonight, so we should be okay.”

“I've only attended once before,” Marinette mused. “How bad can they get?”

When Adrien laughed—she could feel his body vibrate against hers—she turned her head to peer at him curiously. “It's not as awful as going to night clubs,” he started, sharing a knowing grin with his cousin. She had done that, too, however, and hadn't noticed any extra attention other than the occasional lustful glance their way. “There are times where she invites new guys that've just been signed somewhere, and sometimes quite seasoned actors and such. If I didn't know her, I would've thought she just wanted to collect beautiful people in one room.”

“A real social butterfly, then,” Alya commented.

“Absolutely.” Nino rolled his eyes. “It can be tedious at times, especially if someone mentions their newest achievement—it can cause a real riot of a conversation of idiots one-upping each other as it progresses.” As strange as it sounded, Marinette wondered where Chloé fit into it all; she was the daughter of the ex-mayor, within the family which ran an expensive hotel, and a wandering socialite that liked to befriend others. While she was rude at times, she hadn't done anything for _herself_ (other than talk to others). She'd been friends with Adrien, even in the eyes of the public, since before he'd become famous and could add a few others to the list of childhood friends.

The Bourgeois' had the money and respect attached to their name for her not to bother with her education—or even a job, if she wished to live on her family's funds for her life—yet she was in further education.

Adrien's voice caught her attention from her thoughts. “It's not _that_ bad, Nino,” he teased, voice shaking with restrained laughter. “You haven't attended as many as me because you wanted to be sneaky, remember? I've dealt with her silly birthday parties and other such things for years.”

The two teased each other for a bit, and while they were distracted with their words, Alya had reached over and began pawing at Marinette's bag, eventually revealing her cell phone with a smile. With a quick wink—that looked more suspicious than it should've—the red-head snapped a picture for the _Ladyblog_. Marinette gnawed on her lower lip when she saw the image; it didn't show below the top of her skirt, only her chest and a portion of her neck and hair, but clearly displayed that there was an arm intimately wrapped around her shoulders.

Once the cell phone was safely stored away again, their conversation dissolved into amusing topics—Alya mentioned the wardrobe that Nino had left behind and laughed about the crude drawings—and when they arrived, Chloé had been correct in saying that being in the presence of Adrien was all she needed to get past the security guard. The apartment was much the same as before, lavish and decorated, with loud music blasting from the speakers. The exception from the previous time was there was no hired help to serve drinks or greet those at the door; maybe the hostess had had second thoughts to that idea. She quickly located two mops of blonde hair sitting beside each other on the leather sofa.

“Chloé,” Adrien called, tugging forward Marinette with a gentle pull of his hand. She looked around shyly as they approached, realising that they were the first to arrive, and shot her room-mate a quick, and brief, panicked look over her shoulder (the red-head was hovering by the front door, attention directed towards the large apartment with brown-coloured eyes flickering around curiously). “We're not too early, are we?”

When the two blondes turned around, Marinette couldn't hold back her chortle. They were clad in the same dress—only different colours on each—and by the disgruntled expression on Aurore's face, it hadn't been intentional. Adrien didn't comment on their attire, and she wondered why Aurore hadn't wandered over and changed at her own apartment—they lived in the same building, after all.

“No, not at all,” Chloé replied, standing up and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a greeting hug. Before she could blink it was over, the blonde pulling back and sitting down upon the sofa once more. “I invited you two earlier so you could get settled in first. I'm not cruel enough to spring everyone upon you straight away.”

She'd never connected considerate to Chloé before. “Thank you,” Marinette replied quietly, mortified that her cheeks were still tinged pink.

“No need to be shy,” Aurore interjected, wiggling her way between the couple, disconnecting their hands in the process, and wrapping herself happily around the dark-haired female's form. When she spoke again, it was quiet so only they could hear. “Are you wanting her to shit a brick by bringing Alya here?”

A snort escaped. “ _I'm_ not the one that invited her.” The embrace was returned with enthusiasm, and she narrowly avoided having a mouth full of golden hair.

“It's really happening.”

Chloé picked up on that. “What are you two muttering about?” she asked, sounding amused. “It's rude to whisper amongst yourselves.”

“Are you sure you—”

Aurore's remark was interrupted before she had the chance to soften the blow. “Hey, Chloé!” Nino called, waving his hand happily as he approached. “Thanks for the invite to your tiny shindig, I know it must be hard to hold yourself back from gathering the masses at your door.”

The blonde rolled her eyes, the movement fond with a smile tugging at her lips, and she made a strangled noise when she connected the dots in front of her. “Oh, come _on_!” There was laughter in response, along with a comforting arm wrapped around her shoulder by Aurore, and Nino's grin continued to grow as the reactions were coming out. Chloé took it surprisingly well, almost as positively as she had with Adrien and Marinette, but couldn't resist the occasional comment to tease them or make a retort that was borderline unfriendly.

Kim, the personal trainer who was infatuated with Aurore, didn't make an appearance that evening (it was unclear whether he hadn't been invited or was too busy preparing for a new film), and the only other that appeared through the doorway was Max, the male that had held the charity event before. He was pleasant, congratulated the two cousins, and his dark skin had flushed with shyness when he was questioned on the topic of Manon—apparently, they were messaging each other and hadn't worked up to arranging a date between the two of them quite yet.

There were a few stories passed around and they spoke about their upcoming work commitments; Max mentioned a new project he was participating in, Adrien let it slip that he was featuring in an upcoming animated series—not saying he was voicing a character—and Aurore bemoaned the upcoming interviews she was set to give, along with the rest of the cast from her childhood show.

Alya and Marinette had shared a knowing glance when they were questioned about their plans and shrugged in response, opting for a non-committal answer.

No one was too intoxicated towards the end of the evening—the closest was Max who had had two alcoholic drinks—and when Alya and Nino had stood up with twin grins and said they were leaving first, it hadn't hit midnight yet. Marinette had rolled her eyes at her friend's excited expression, wondering whether she'd remember to take the contact lenses out and that her spectacles were at home, and passed her cell phone over with a wink that was more suited to be coming from the red-head. There were a few mumbles from Chloé once the two had disappeared, though no one took them too seriously.

“We can leave whenever you want,” Adrien murmured when they were the last two remaining on the couch. Her eyes flickered to the other side of the room where the two blonde females were attempting to teach Max the right dance moves for the current song. “It'll only get worse with those two dancing over there.”

She stifled a laugh, placing her glass filled with a non-alcoholic drink onto the coffee-table. “I'm fine to get back whenever. My schedule's free tomorrow, so I suspect I'll be comatose to the world for a while in the morning.”

“You're lucky.” His grin was lopsided as he playfully bumped his shoulder against hers. “I've got another shoot tomorrow.”

“Early?” Marinette questioned softly, leaning against him and resting her cheek on his clothed frame. At his nod, she visibly winced. “It's a good thing you haven't been drinking then; the headache would've been killer.”

He snorted. “I'm not that silly, thankfully. I'm only allowed so much leeway with my diet as it is.”

“So you can't consume all the alcohol you want? Pity.”

“I'd like to see you get away with drinking yourself silly when you're weighed constantly,” the blond retorted. “You're lucky you're a secret model.”

A self-conscious blush rose to her cheeks from the appointed title. “That's ridiculous,” she whispered, “I-I'm more like a child trying—”

The self-deprecating words never came out, though. Warm lips pressed against hers, slightly needy and the pressure wasn't light, though it was still gentle, and she grinned as his fingertips threaded through the strands of her hair. Her arms wound around his shoulders lazily, and she hummed as she enjoyed the sensations, feeling the hot puffs of air blow against her flushed cheeks, the soft noises of their intertwined breaths loud enough for only the two of them to hear. She scooted closer along the sofa, responding to his searching movements and nipped his lower lip greedily to indicate her growing need.

His hand gripped her hip in comfort, fingertips seeking the flesh above her skirt, hiding away underneath the material of her shirt. A groan escaped as his tongue sought out hers, the noise muffled yet still portraying her pleasure, and the tell-tale feeling of her pulse between her legs began apparent. Marinette pressed her thighs together, seeking the private friction as she lost herself in the contact, breaths coming out quickly and uneven as they continued. The sound of the music surrounding them was drowned out from the ever-growing and thundering pulse, and she idly realised that they weren't alone in a room, and it wasn't at all appropriate for the growing dampness in her underwear to appear in public.

Adrien moved before she could. He pulled away and placed a chaste kiss to her reddened lips once more, and her eyes fluttered open to look into his own, noting that they appeared half-lidded and the shine upon his slightly swollen lips caused the need between her legs to increase.

“You're perfect,” he murmured, eyes slipping closed once more as he brushed their lips together.

The praise caused her to blush more. The kiss was wetter than before, movements more insistent and she was certain the noise they were producing was louder, too. Her pulse was throbbing, face warm and surely portraying her arousal well, and when she went to further the kiss once more, she opened her eyes in bewilderment when he pulled away.

He grinned widely at her, dimples on display from happiness, and placed kiss to her overheating cheek before holding her hand, tugging them along to the door after she'd collected their belongings. With a glance to his lower-half to realise why he wasn't approaching the trio to explain they were leaving, she waved shyly at Aurore when they made eye contact. Adrien called over the music that they were on their way out, and before Chloé could reply, they had closed the front door to cut her off.

Whether Adrien had called for his double-job chauffeur or if they had waited outside for hours, she was unsure, and as soon as they were safely tucked into the vehicle once more their hands were upon each other. His fingertips were caressing the exposed skin of her thigh, boldly trailing beneath the material of her skirt as they tongues were intertwined once more. She was gripping onto his shirt, shivers of pleasure running through her body. Their mouths broke apart from a small gasp of surprise from her, gazing into his bright eyes and seeing the grin across his lips for a moment before he was trailing kisses along the length of her neck. Marinette threw her head back in a mixture of astonishment and pleasure, pulse thundering in response.

His fingertips trailed teasingly across her inner-thighs, and she almost closed her legs on instinct from the touch—she could feel his grin of amusement against her skin when her legs stiffened. Running a hand idly through his hair as her breathing began to even out, Marinette gasped softly as he nipped at her exposed neck, nails trailing along the skin of her thighs before they made contact with her underwear.

She froze.

Adrien's fingertip deliberately stroked across her clothed protrusion, causing a shudder of pleasure and a noise of appreciate to escape.

Her cheeks flamed as she simultaneously realised that he could feel her dampness clearly and that they were most definitely _not_ alone at that moment. She scooted away, back pressed against the cold door and pushed him away with a burst of strength causing the blond to wobble before he regained his balance.

Where he had been toying with her neck was wet, cold air causing her skin to prickle, and the embarrassment and shock was portrayed clearly across her expression. Her cerulean eyes flickered between him and the front of the vehicle, indicating what her problem was.

He didn't laugh. Whereas he had been sat with befuddled brows and a frown upon his lips before, his expression morphed into one of realisation, and he smiled sheepishly at her as his hand rose to clutch the nape of his neck self-consciously.

“I apologise,” Adrien confessed, clearing his throat afterwards. His voice was lower than usual (and it didn't help to cease the beating of her frantic pulse).

Marinette pushed her legs together, smoothing out the material of her skirt. “I-it's okay.” Her cheeks flamed further as her voice stuttered and cracked. “I didn't mind.”

His answering smile was blinding.

They kept their distance for the rest of the journey—which wasn't too long—and stole heated glances at each other from the corner of their eyes. Once the vehicle had stopped to a halt, Marinette opened the door, sighing from the gust of cold air, and clambered outside.

“You don't have to walk me up,” she pointed out when the blond stood beside her sporting a smile (with a discreet glance, she noticed he'd calmed down from their earlier activities, unlike her sticky underwear). “I'll survive the little walk.”

“Fine,” Adrien agreed, stepping closer and caressing her warm cheek with a soft hand. He kissed her forehead sweetly, pulling back and taking in the redness across her face from the action, before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. It wasn't filled with lust or passion as it had been before; it was a romantic parting gesture that made her heartbeat increase. It portrayed his care for her, and seeing the soft smile when they pulled enough made her grin widely. “Good-bye, Marinette.”

The shadows across his face from the street-lights only made him more attractive; the darkness of his lashes, the curve of his nose and the reddened lips adding to his beautiful appearance.

She wetted her lips.

“Good-bye, Adrien.”

-x-

The secret shoot turned out to be quite a big deal the following week. Adrien hadn't given her prior warning, so when Rose had barrelled into her room while trying to restrain her laughter, she had been instantly suspicious. There displayed upon the blonde's cell phone was an image of a billboard that was plastered throughout the country; Adrien with ruffled hair, a hint of a smirk along his lips—no dimples in sight—a shirt falling off his toned frame and showing the dips and curves of his upper-half clearly. The shot ended at the top of his trousers (to her relief), and turned out to be an advertisement for a cologne. When she tore her eyes away from his body, she noticed the bottle that was displayed beneath the text, nowhere near his body.

She'd flushed from Rose's knowing gaze and teasing, diving for her own device to message her scheming boyfriend.

' _Marinette:  
_ _How quickly could you come round?_ '

There was only a short period of wait.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _I'm assuming this is for ravishing rather than an emergency._ '

Marinette snorted.

' _Marinette:  
_ _Then let me have my wicked way with you. A bit of warning about the picture would've been nice._ '

There was a small twinge of jealously as she thought of the countless admirers that would gaze at his picture, though knowing that she was the only one that could run her fingertips across the skin with permission was more than enough to banish the insecurities.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _How about I make it up to you over dinner tomorrow night?_ '

She didn't hesitate.

' _Marinette:  
_ _You'll have a lot of kissing up to do_.'

His reply made her blush and roll her eyes simultaneously.

' _Adrien Agreste:  
_ _I'm prepared to kiss you everywhere if I must, princess._ '

_PREVIEW: She scrolled down in horror, voice coming out weakly, “This isn't good.”_


	15. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than usual, I apologise. Thank you for all the comments, I really appreciate them. I sometimes post teasers of this and upcoming stories on my tumblr (xiueryn).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

“Hey, it's okay,” the dark-haired female called softly, crouching down on her knees and trying not to make harsh movements. “You need to eat, you know? Hiding isn't going to help.”

Shuffling forward, hand gripping the frame of her bed for balance, Marinette peered underneath alongside the storage she kept beneath. There were a few boxes, some filled entirely with fabric and other such items needed for her course, and another that had additional cleaning products that she used for her own room, rather than the rest of the apartment. In the back, amongst what were surely clumps of dust as she hadn't pulled her bed out, was a darkened shadow that was cowering out away from her.

She had the cuts across her hands proving that it wasn't a dream.

“ _Marinette_ ,” her mother had said in a sad voice over the phone, the sentence that had caused the ruckus in her home, “ _I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this; Mister Fu passed away recently, and there's something of his left for you._ ”

It was sudden. Mister Fu had been frail the last time she'd seen him, when he'd been introduced to Adrien had the blond had witnessed the bundle of trouble that was Tikki as she hid away from the world, and knowing that he'd succumbed to his illness was a troubling thought. The arrangements were sorted out quickly; Mister Fu hadn't had relatives left in the country—a distance niece across the world—and his will had been distributed to those he deemed worthy.

Tikki was left in her not so capable hands, along with most of the cat's belongings. Her parents couldn't risk looking after the cat because of their business, so she'd hurried along in the early hours of the morning to rush.

Thankfully, her apartment building allowed pets as long as they didn't disturb the peace of their homes. So, getting the honey-coloured feline into the carrier that was left behind was the least of her problems. Marinette had been frazzled the whole journey back to her home, and to leave in the same day without sleeping a night at her parents' meant it was more than half a day worth of travelling that caused her to be cranky. To add to that, Tikki had been cowering at the back of the carrier, refusing to meow or make further contract than the scratches that had appeared when Marinette had first picked her up (one of Mister Fu's carers had collected the feline and placed her in the carrier so she didn't run away).

The cat bed was placed beside bedside table due to lack of space, and she was panicking on how to handle having a cat at all. There was already a problem with their space due to the one bathroom that they had to organise between themselves—not to mention that she hadn't told her room-mates that she was coming back home with a cat.

She had classes early the next morning, the date with Adrien had been cancelled, and she didn't even have a litter tray! Mister Fu had a back garden, even small and secluded had been enough for the timid feline, but the most Marinette had was a fake potted plant in the kitchen, and just thinking of Tikki's claws messing the fake-dirt and spilling it everywhere had her heart hammering from stress and worry. There was so much to know, and her first pet that she could remember was one that required care, attention, and _not_ a stranger's touch.

“Tikki,” she cooed, sounding pained. “We need to stick together, okay? I'll look out for you, but in return you need to support me here.”

Was she chipped? Did she need to spend money that she really didn't have on taking her to the veterinarians to make sure she was healthy?

She swiped the hairs away from her forehead in frustration.

Alya was out with Nino for the evening, and Rose was visiting Alix as they'd become close lately (which had been unthinkable in the past). And after realising that her two room-mates were useless with pets, as they'd never had more than a fish or two that had died horribly from neglect, Marinette made sure her door was firmly shut before searching for her cell phone.

Adrien answered on the second ring. “Hey, I thought you were busy?” He sounded curious, not offended from the cancellation.

“I'm in over my head already,” she blurted in response, eyes trained on the bed to see whether the shadow bolted for an escape. “H-he—Mister Fu left Tikki to _me_. She won't come out from the bed and I don't even know what I'm doing here, oh, _gosh_ , what if she—”

“Marinette,” the blond interrupted, not at all annoyed from her rambling. “You need to calm down, okay?”

She blinked. “Right.”

There was a smile in his voice. “Want me to come over and give you a crash course in owning a cat?”

“Gosh, _yes_.” She scratched her neck, not concerned that she was still clad in the clothes she'd travelled for hours in. “I-I need to buy stuff for her and everything, I'm so lost.”

There was something sweet in the way he humoured her panic, never outright laughing in her face or saying she was overreacting over the small things. Adrien stayed connected the whole way, carefully explaining steps and the simplest things—such as how much to feed her—indulging her thoroughly. When she worried that he was driving while distracted, he had to point out the ever-present chauffeur that stuck to him like a shadow at times. As much as she wanted to protest at his kindness, when he appeared at her front door and took in her frantic state, she didn't complain about the essential things he'd bought.

“I can't fit a litter tray anywhere in my room,” she said, clutching the new scratching post to her chest as they walked through the hallway. “What if she makes a run for it when the door's open? Maybe I should keep her in my room, until she's comfortable— _if_ she gets comfy.”

He made noises of agreement, sometimes suggesting better ways but never shooting down the ideas that burst from her lips.

Everything could fit in her bedroom, but it meant there was only a few spaces left to step on to make it through the room. She'd have to be careful in the mornings to try and not place her foot into the litter tray, food and water, or even stand upon the scratching post and scream in surprise. Slowly, things would be migrating through the apartment to the kitchen, other than the bed.

“She hates me,” Marinette whispered, legs up on the mattress to avoid the items on the floor.

Adrien shook his head, seated much the same beside her. “Tikki doesn't know you, Marinette. Just give her some time.”

Time didn't seem to help, however. The feline adamantly avoided her—and the countless attempts of communication from her room-mates—and only came out when no one was in the room. It was understandable that she was wary of her new owner, especially since they'd only seen each other twice in the current year, but it wasn't helping Marinette's anxiety at being a new owner. During the first week, she even splurged a bit of money on expensive food to try and entice the cat, but it was to no avail.

Adrien was a source of comfort, soothing her worries and telling tales of Plagg being a troublesome kitten. Although their date had been rearranged, he visited during the week when he could with his busy schedule, never quite clearing enough time to stay for dinner before being whisked away after an hour or two. The time they spent together was sweet, somewhat innocent, and the kisses never crossed over to the verge of sexual frustration once more (despite how much she wished they would). He was wholly fine with taking their relationship slow, and with their time apart he confessed he didn't want to shove his affections from their partings when they saw each other. She'd hugged him tightly in response, trying to convey her overwhelming feelings without words.

The silly bet was off when he uttered a pun on their almost nightly phone call, and she'd laughed and pointed it out without a fuss. They still exchanged pictures in the morning, sometimes when they were eating something interesting or saw a cute dog walking outside, and each notification on her devices made a smile appear across her lips. Even the teenaged romances she'd indulged in when she was younger couldn't compare to how she felt with him. There was always the influx of happiness from simple actions such as holding hands, and she briefly wondered whether she would naïvely scribble their names together on paper if she had the time. Somehow, there wasn't the slow-paced drifting that her past relationships had had; just because she wasn't able to see him daily didn't mean that there was the insecure worry that he'd find someone else.

Manon was active on social media, posting pictures of herself and her new boyfriend (which had taken too long to happen). Likewise, Nino and Alya were happy to post pictures of each other in a _Ladyblog_ fashion, so they weren't showing their faces so his fans couldn't connect the dots to her just yet. With that in mind, it seemed appropriate to attempt to quench the curiosity on her own situation.

The previous blog post that had revealed almost everything apart from her cell phone number, the amount of messages were started to decrease. The change of e-mail meant that she wasn't flooded any longer, though her social media accounts were still heavily spammed at times.

Vindictively, Marinette made sure to be friends with her boyfriend on any site she could.

There were posts stating that her family's pâtisserie was a kind-hearted place where the owners didn't laugh at the questions from the fans, and although there were a few sparse comments that were rude, the majority was positive. Her parents hadn't mentioned negative publicity, and were still benefiting from the sudden attention—fans had figured out that it was their pâtisserie that Nino had adored a certain sweet from in an interview, so the orders were flooding in with queues trailing outside in the brightening sunlight during the day.

When she came across a recent post, dated the previous week, Marinette was instantly curious. It was being shared repeatedly and the views were rivalling that of the _Ladyblog_ on a mediocre day. The title had her and Adrien's first names together with words that were designed to capture attention.

“Well, fuck it,” Marinette grumbled, deciding to see what the fuss was about. The site was secure, and she doubted there would be any viruses since there was so many views.

It was a horrible idea, really.

She scrolled down in horror, voice coming out weakly, “This isn't good.”

With a glance upwards, her suspicions were confirmed. The name hadn't changed and although her room-mates had contemplated investigating the blog that had leaked her personal information the first time, the temptation was doubled now that the culprit had struck twice.

There were multiple pictures of her and Adrien from the night of Chloé's make-shift party. Images of when the black car had appeared beside the curb, her climbing into inside the vehicle and then when she'd protested him walking her to the door afterwards with flushed cheeks. That—that was when her underwear had been a mess, and the fact that she _knew_ didn't make the photographic evidence, that couldn't see that detail, any better.

There wasn't much text, however. The images had been mostly aimed towards her and Adrien, so to her surprise there was a blackened picture of Nino and Alya, offering to reveal the red-head's identity if the right offer was made.

So, it wouldn't just be her in the end. They couldn't protect Alya from the harassment forever, and the fact that her best friend was most likely going to seek advice from elsewhere, perhaps coerce one of their mutual friends into illegal activities, for vengeance wasn't going to be pretty.

“Oh, no,” Marinette moaned, resting her clammy forehead onto her hands.

She'd avoided the topic for far too long, she knew. Adrien was going to be upset that he was the root problem of it all, that he was the cause of the multiple messages of abuse that were sent her way, but it wasn't as though he could make it _stop_. Everything they were doing was legal, and it surely couldn't be as bad as some of the things the magazines were publishing about them.

When she showed her room-mates the post, they were rightfully appalled. Alix, who was growing increasingly close to Rose in the past weeks, was invited round for dinner that evening.

Alya cooked with a frustrated expression, not opening her mouth to express her concerns or worries and instead mixed and stirred with aggressive movements.

“Yeah, sure. I can do that,” Alix answered casually, fiddling with her fork on the couch, when she was asked if she'd look into it. “It's not right what they're doing, and I don't think any of you deserve that.”

“Oh,” Alya breathed, adjusting her spectacles. “That was easier than I thought.”

Brushing her pink-dyed hair out of her eyes, Alix grinned and showed off her white teeth. “I'm doing this because I hope we can be friends in the future.”

That was a surprise, though. Marinette blinked, unsure whether they hadn't qualified to be friends in the past and had somehow only just wormed their way into Alix's good graces. When Rose, who was settled down beside their guest on the sofa, gave her a shy smile and reached to clasp Alix's free hand in her own, it suddenly _clicked_.

“ _Oh_ ,” the red-head repeated, sounding shocked. “That's one way of announcing your relationship.”

Hitting her surprised friend lightly on the shoulder, Marinette pitched in, “We're happy for you two, but try not to be too loud, okay?”

They had had a few suspicions about Rose's sexuality after the outburst in the past, but they hadn't thought it would be Alix that held her fragile affections—they hadn't been close for the past year, but there had been chances for them to talk in private, she supposed. As long as her friend was happy, Marinette had no problem welcoming a newcomer in their home, especially since she could tease the blonde about the make-shift contract that only allowed Nino, and his family, into the apartment as the only males (the joke had gone on for too long, and now that it was hilariously valid, they couldn't help but poke fun at it).

Rose huffed. “Be quiet, you.”

Alix laughed at their interactions, and then explained that it would take a while a few days to make sure the information was correct, as she didn't want to start a witch hunt for an innocent person. There were muttered comments that they wouldn't be _that_ bad when the identity was revealed, and when Alya made a joke that they couldn't punch someone that was shrouded in mystery and darkness, Marinette stiffened in realisation.

“Wait,” she said, capturing their attention as the smile faded from her lips. “I-I forgot, but last week there was someone outside taking pictures of the building.” To stop them from interrupting, Marinette raised a hand to indicate she still had more to say. “They ran away when they saw me, and had a hood up so I couldn't see their face. I'm not trying to shift the blame onto a stranger, but they were acting odd.”

“Of the building?” Alya asked for confirmation, twirling the cutlery in her fidgeting hands. “Not of anyone that was coming outside?”

The dark-haired female shook her head. “It was more like they were documenting their way back to the parking area from the front door.”

“And you think it's the same twat who's posting these pictures?”

She shrugged. “There's a chance, but I doubt it. Our address has been out there for quite a long time, and they haven't posted any of them.”

“If it is,” Alya started, licking her lips, “then it means they might be local, so I can punch them in the face.”

Despite the fact she knew that that could happen, she burst into laughter.

The _Ladyblog_ was still thriving. Rose hadn't taken any pictures for a few months, and was mostly focusing on her newfound relationship and university work, so it was left in the capable hands of the tech-savvy red-head that was fuming with fury. There hadn't been an updated post yet that revealed her identity, so she was attempting to take matters in her own hands the afternoon after their dinner.

“What if I post a picture on the _Ladyblog_?” Alya mused, stretching out on her own mattress. “It'll be guaranteed to get views, and I'll win by outing myself first.”

Marinette spun around on her room-mates chair to narrow her eyes at her. “Yes, and you'll reveal you're in control of the site at the same time, and therefore out me, too.”

“Would that be so bad? Publicity and people will finally know that killer body is yours.”

“No.” She shook her head. “They'll know that I'm Adrien's girlfriend, and the views will come from that. I'll be accused of using our relationship for favour.”

The red-head made a disgruntled noise. “You're so insecure, Mari. All this attention isn't because of him; we achieved this by ourselves, and no one can take that away.”

“That doesn't mean they won't try,” she muttered. “I got shit at my internship because of it—imagine if I reveal that I'm famous on the internet, too. The hate would only increase.”

“Still waiting until you've finished school, then?”

She sighed. “Maybe a bit after that, too.”

To her surprise, she squawked in shock when a pillow collided with her face. Scrambling to push the material away, Marinette glared at her friend, especially when the red-head kneeled on the mattress and put her hands on her hips in a disapproving pose.

“I'd like to get some recognition also eventually,” she grit out, spectacles askew. “Owning a successful blog will do wonders for my résumé, especially since I'm acting as your manager as well.”

Marinette smoothed her frizzy hair to distract herself. “It's just a few sponsor deals and a brief cameo on a television series—it's not much, Alya.”

“Not much?” she questioned incredulously. “This is more than others in your classes get! Let's not forget that you're sought after to model in fashion shows, too, and even asked to feature on advertisements. You could be right alongside your famous boyfriend if you took the risk, Mari.”

“Why though?” Marinette shot in return. “All this because you've posted a hundred pictures of my body? I'm liked because of perverts, and I'm not right to be a model; I'm overweight for it, too small probably, and I doubt I could even walk the catwalk without tripping over.”

Another pillow hit her in the face.

“Hey!” Alya said in a raised voice, pointing a finger at her. “They're not shitty candid shots of some slob. It actually takes time and effort, and it's not like we upload blurry ones either. You may not like it, you self-conscious shit, but it's because of _you_ that it's working out.”

She pulled a displeased face. “I didn't sign up for this, okay?”

“Get over it,” the red-head replied, narrowing her eyes behind the askew spectacles. “There's other social media models that are begging for the attention we get—you're popular, suck it up and _own_ it. I could post a picture of you making out with a cup of coffee and the brand would also benefit from it. Why else do you think you're being contacted to be sponsored?”

Wrinkling her nose, she suggested, “Poor decisions?”

“Your self-confidence is a continuous poor decision,” Alya snapped, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “When you graduated—gosh, even before that, if you wanted—you could use the _Ladyblog_ 's shop for a job. The clothing actually sells, and I'm pretty sure stores would be interested in selling them, too, if you wanted to venture out into that.”

“Doesn't that...” Marinette trailed off, sighing softly. “It feels like I'm hiding behind the name, doesn't it? I wouldn't be selling them as myself, and I doubt if I tried to make anything happen with my own hands that it'll be accepted.”

There were no more pillows to throw, but she knew there would've been another colliding with her face if possible. “You haven't got two separate identities, Marinette,” her friend started, eyebrows furrowed with a soft voice, though she could see the muted irritation across her features. “It's not like you're leeching off of a famous family member— _Lady_ is you, as much as the Marinette in front of me is. The only difference is that no one knows.”

“I guess,” she murmured begrudgingly.

“Trust me, girl,” Alya continued, scooting along the bed so their knees were almost touching. “I've never lied to you before, have I?”

And as they sat there, changing the subject after it became clear that Marinette wasn't going to give into the offered advice without thinking about it too hard, the thought of Nathaniel crossed her mind. He was the closest role model she had, and he definitely tried to live his life as two separate people. The Nathaniel at university was shy, quiet, and barely spoke. There were rumours about his health and stories told about his voice—some even claimed that it was high-pitched and feminine, which was supposed to be an insult—but all she could think was that there had to be a good reason for him to draw the line and seclude himself.

He was popular, earned a lot of money yet still pursued an education, and had done so since he was sixteen. Somewhere within the three years he'd been working, something had happened that had changed him.

Was it rude to ask? She thought so, and when she mentioned to Adrien one evening that Nathaniel was generally silent and a recluse, the blond responded that that didn't sound the male that he'd come to know.

“No,” Adrien confirmed, sounding thoughtful. “He's a bit quiet, I can agree with that, but he laughs at my jokes during recordings. It ruins them sometimes, especially since I can see him through the glass and it distracts me, too.”

She laughed at that. “That sounds like you're slacking, though.”

“Nathaniel's nice; he doesn't mind too much, and Damocles is just a grouchy pushover that's always there.” Picturing the balding gentleman that had directed her and Alya to meet Nathaniel as his pseudonym, she couldn't deny the description. “I don't think he'd mind if you question what happened—you're friends, aren't you?”

She shrugged before realising that he couldn't see. “I guess? We don't interact much outside of our one shared class, and only had coffee together a few times.”

“Maybe he's not a fan of coffee,” he pointed out.

“Maybe,” Marinette agreed, licking her lips. “I think he's more worried about Chloé coming along and teasing him, honestly.”

Laughing, Adrien pointed out that anyone with feelings was rightfully worried about that. There were a few teasing comments muttered about the blonde, and Marinette took her chance to question about their strange friendship. It was explained that their mother's had been friends, which had spurred the awkward meetings through the years. It wasn't often that they were pushed together, but at social events where the children were expected to attend, Adrien described how he'd sit away from the crowds and be smothered in attention by Chloé, who would try her best to escort him inside so guests could fawn over their appearances.

Adrien cleared his throat self-consciously. “She's not very good at friendships, that's all I can say. After I'd been absent for a while, or stayed abroad for a few months, she'd babble and insult me instead of saying she'd missed my presence.”

“The insulting sounds about right,” Marinette mused, thinking of her encounters with the uppity blonde. “I'd say she's just too blunt, if I'm being honest. The first time we met she said my hairstyle was too childish for my age.”

“Is it bad that I'm not surprised?”

A bubble of laughter burst through her lips at his dry remark. “Was she always like this?”

“Kind of.” There was an odd tone to his voice, one that didn't sound quite so happy any more. “Her mother passed away when we were younger, so her father spoils her a lot more because of it. I think that's why she's free to do what she wishes nowadays, which usually results to her being in the public eye.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Marinette tentatively asked, “Is that what you want for her?”

“I have no say in it.” There was a silence as they waited for each other to talk, and she wondered whether being quiet would convince him to quietly continue and voice his concerns. Staring at the darkness underneath her mattress—where she knew Tikki was surely lurking and waiting until she disappeared to appear and eat the offered food—she silently counted the passing moments. His voice was soft and unsure when he continued to say, “It's not what the younger Chloé would've wanted; she used to make fun of those that were constantly snapped in magazines, yet that's what happened to her in the end.”

“At least she has you there with her, right?” the dark-haired female pointed out, unsure whether it was the right thing to say.

It was true, though. Even with the countless famous friends that Chloé had managed to associate herself with, enough so that she could have those highly sought out parties, there was still one person she had by her side that had been there all along.

She could hear him breathing.

“Yes,” he murmured, “I guess so.”

-x-

It wasn't through the _Ladyblog_ in the end—though that was still thriving and achieving high popularity that was unthought of in the beginning—but Alya did reveal she was dating Nino by herself. Whether Nino had been told about the information being sold or not, the two of them posted different images of them two embracing, heads pressed against each other as they smiled brightly with the frames of their spectacles touching. They added a sweet caption, that had Marinette laughing at how innocent they seemed, and made it clear who the other was by pointing out their accounts.

Somehow, that turned into a competition of sorts. Alya and Nino were continuing to post the pictures they'd taken of each other over time and kept posting one each day with a different caption, slowly getting more intimate and borderline kissing, and when one shoved too much cleavage and almost a flash of her nipple of the shirt had been a centimetre lower—because it was clear there was no brassiere there—only then did Marinette intervene when she could hear her room-mate laughing through the thin walls of their apartment.

Alya continued to laugh at the scolding, ushering the dark-haired female over so she could read some of the countless comments that were there. A lot of them were negative, scorning the red-head for flaunting their relationship out of nowhere, and the sentences were so juvenile that she could connect them to the immature letters that came addressed to their home; it seemed that because Alya's address hadn't been revealed, they were posting them over social media and even creating hate posts that were centred around her.

“They hate you,” Marinette murmured, pointing to a particularly riled up teenager. “And you're _enjoying_ this.”

Pushing her spectacles up, Alya grinned widely. “It's not like they can do much, is it?”

“I hope you get egged. I've heard that's happened in the past.”

“Sure,” she replied easily, raising an eyebrow. “If someone gets evidence of that, I'll happily go to the police and get them in trouble. I hope their parents ground them or something.”

Marinette breathed loudly, blowing the strands of hair on her forehead. “And what about the older ones, then? Let's be glad Nino hasn't got a stalker that wouldn't be afraid of killing you.”

“Please.” Her room-mate waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I may be dating a famous actor, but that doesn't mean I'm an idiot. There's going to be countless articles and fans knocking me, but they don't know _me_. It's fabricated, and if there's even a slither of truth, it'll be blown out of proportion and barely recognisable.”

Somehow, she couldn't help but admire her friend's attitude a bit. When the messages had first started coming to her, when the mail arrived and glitter fell out, her old e-mail became swamped and she could barely find her parents' messages in the mess without using the search bar, she'd wondered whether it was worth the hassle for a brief moment before reprimanding herself. The red-head was putting on a brave front, definitely, but she knew that it would crack and crumble and Alya would become a ball of self-consciousness that she'd drown in alcohol for one evening, before she recovered her confidence after the oncoming headache as over. The bravado would get her far in the beginning, especially when it had been more than a week since the reveal of their relationship, and Marinette vowed to be there when she was needed.

Alya had been a rock for her through the years, especially when they'd met after Marinette had recovered and tried to intertwine herself in the old class-mates that had known her previously. The red-head had been a brief of fresh air in a stuffy world that expected her to act the same as before, and if the best she could be in the future was to be someone that would hold her friend's hair while she threw up her feelings, then that was what she was determined to be.

When Adrien asked her out for dinner again, Marinette readily accepted. There was still the concern of being harassed by reporters if they visited a high-end restaurant—when she would've preferred a cheaper alternative in the beginning anyway—so him suggesting they went to his apartment instead squashed the growing worries she had. They arranged it for the upcoming Saturday, even suggesting that she stayed the night and her cheeks had grown hot at the implications immediately.

“Okay,” Marinette agreed softly.

There was a smile in his voice. “I'll pick you up at five, then?”

She licked her lips. “T-that's fine.”

There was still the issue of Tikki. It turned out that even though Marinette had forgot to close her bedroom door one day when she disappeared off to classes, there had been no escape attempts. The honey-coloured feline was constantly in the shadows, avoiding anyone and everyone, and the only assurance that she was still there was the used litter tray—that unfortunately made the bedroom smell horrible—and the eaten food that sometimes fell onto the floor. The situation wasn't the best, especially due to the lack of space on the floor, and a pang of sadness coursed through her whenever she thought about how lonely the feline was. She'd lost the owner she'd been with for years, and was now shoved into an unknown room with someone she'd barely met and was trying her best to avoid everything.

“I'll keep the bed in here, don't worry,” Marinette assured the silent cat that was hiding underneath her bed, prattling on as she described where the other items were going to be when she was back from Adrien's. “I'll have to buy something to keep my door wedged open so you can get back in, but I'm sure it'll be fine, right? You won't be scared of it, I hope.”

There was shyness and embarrassment written all over her face, but she hoped that talking to Tikki would somehow ease her discomfort and familiarise themselves to each other. The bed that Adrien had bought was untouched since it had been placed beside her bedside table, and she doubted that the feline wandered around the small room when no one was present.

“Sorry, Tikki,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair. “I guess I sort of abandoned you before.”

No answer, of course. There hadn't even been a hiss directed at her since they'd started living together.

“Mister Fu didn't. He really loved you.”

She was going mad, surely. The cat wasn't going to reply to her, or even understand her words, but it was more for herself than anyone else that she was saying such things.

Fully aware that it was pointless, she whispered, “I'm happy you were loved.” And she truly was; the happy little kitten she'd seen in pictures deserved warmth, cuddles, and to be taken care of without a problem, and knowing that she'd received such things from the kind-hearted tutor she'd briefly had was a relief.

Rose and Alya were fully aware of their newest addition to their home, and they still attempted to bribe the cat out from underneath the mattress by making high-pitched noises and trying to catch her attention each night. Sometimes, the blonde would inch towards the countless fabric stored in the boxes and try grab some to attempt to wiggle around, but she was always stopped as they were expensive and needed for Marinette's projects.

Alya had agreed to feed Tikki for the evening that Marinette was away, smirking with a knowing expression and promised that she wouldn't get up to anything dirty with Nino when he stayed the night.

Although Rose had gotten over her obsession—and was freely calling it that, and knew it had been unhealthy—that didn't mean that she was okay with being in the same room with him, though. She reacted awkwardly when she saw him and Alya together, sometimes waving and making a high-pitched noise before disappearing or stumbling over her words completely so they were unintelligible. She complained that a few people had asked her for Nino's autograph, or for information about him, because they were too apprehensive about going to Alya for that (as the red-head and narrowed her eyes and refused to any that had tried).

They were both reacting a lot better to the sudden attention than Marinette had in the beginning. Knowing that her friends could handle the situation was a relief, and she wondered whether she would've reacted the same if the roles were reserved.

Marinette packed a small bag with her necessities, along with a change of underwear that she wasn't ashamed admit she might need. There wasn't the frustrating worry that more was expected from her—not like some of her previous boyfriends had been like, when she was younger—and the thought of sharing a bed had her cheeks pleasantly warm as she tucked her hair away into a neat plait, apart from the fluffy bangs that would need a trim sometime soon.

After a short conversation, Marinette had managed to convince him not to pick her up. It was a local hotel, and she pointed out that arriving alone would attract less attention if reporters were to see them. Surely, they had deduced that he often travelled in the same vehicle with the same chauffeur, despite his wishes.

Adrien had explained softly that after he'd learned to drive, there had been a few instances of reporters attempting to obstruct the vehicle, or even climb inside, in an effort to learn more information about the subjects they were writing about. The behaviour had been awful, especially when his popularity had increased, so his father had convinced him to take the make-shift bodyguard instead of living where his father wanted him. The large family mansion that was across the city was cold, too spacious and lacked the warm feeling that it used to, apparently. Adrien stated that he preferred to avoid meetings there, but was still swindled into attending for special occasions, such as birthdays.

It wasn't a long walk. The warm air felt nice as she crossed the streets, cell phone clutched in her nervous hands with directions written across the screen. He had tried to describe the way the best he could, explaining that he'd meet her at the elevators—unless she'd prefer to walk the stairs—and that there should be no problems about her simply walking in.

It wasn't as luxurious as the Bourgeois' hotel, yet still high-end. There was a spacious entrance with decorations and large glass windows, employees walking around and greeting guests to make sure they were being attended to. There was a dining hall that could be rented out for parties, multiple floors with different sorts of rooms to rent, and a front desk that had a bowl of free mints that guests could collect as they walked past.

She idly wondered whether the mid-level rooms would be bigger than her tiny apartment.

Walking through the entrance and looking around with wide eyes, Marinette grasped the strap of her bag tighter than necessary, the fact that she was going to be visiting Adrien's home finally sinking in. Alya had walked through this place multiple times to visit Nino's, and yet had somehow managed not to tell her about how large it was.

There were two elevators to choose from, a large plant in between, with a door leading to the stairs beside them. Leaning against the wall by the stairs entrance, Adrien was fiddling with his already ruffled hair, not spotting her immediately, giving her time to admire his loose t-shirt with long sleeves and jeans, a casual appearance that he probably wouldn't wear outside as the shirt was somewhat faded, edges of his pushed up sleeves lighter than the rest.

“Hey,” she called awkwardly, waving before dropping her hand in nervousness.

“Marinette!” Adrien greeted, offering a hand as he approached. She intertwined their fingers readily, smile across her lips from the affectionate action. “I was worried that my directions weren't clear enough.”

She shook her head. “They were fine, I was just admiring the lobby. You said this place wasn't as popular as the Bourgeois', but I can't tell why just yet.”

“It's because it's not run by the ex-mayor,” the blond replied, ushering them into an empty elevator. “The security's nice here, and if reporters harass the staff they readily kick them out.”

“Sounds nice, then.”

He lived on the floor above Nino, as it turned out. On the lower floors, where it was purely for guests that wouldn't stay permanently, there were simply cards that allowed them into the rooms, and there were more doors for those levels. However, on the higher levels there were two apartments per floor, which included a kitchen unlike the usual one. They were still considered guests, and could request to eat at the dining area for a fee that was paid for with the monthly rent, but they could decline the cleaning services and take care of their own needs with machines in their own apartments.

It was a nice system, she supposed. When Marinette questioned the security with guests visiting the higher floors, he explained that instead of a card, keys were required along with a code that could only be input wrong three times before security were called.

“It's pretty nice,” Adrien commented, waiting for their floor to appear. “The walls are thick so no one complains about Nino's music, and the allowance of pets is what reeled me in in the first place.”

She nodded, trying to understand the logic for living in such a place. “You didn't want an apartment elsewhere, or even a house?” It wasn't a matter of money, though. “The security would be better to appease your father that way, I think.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders with a small smile. “Father doesn't approve of Nino and I living together, so this was the best we could come up with, especially because of our schedules. It would be nice to find something permanent in the future, but this will have to do.”

A stray thought hit her. “Does that mean you continue to pay for this when you're abroad?”

“Well, I'm never gone for longer than a week or two,” Adrien pointed out, squeezing their intertwined fingers. “The rent's monthly, and I don't fancy keeping my belongings in my family home until I can find a better place.”

It wasn't her place to question it. If it worked for him, then she was happy (even though it was probably an outrageous price, though she supposed living elsewhere would've cost the same amount, possibly more). Their conversation evolved into joking topics that had tears pooling at the corner of her eyes from laughter when he fished out his keys, telling her to look away since the code was a secret.

He narrowed his eyes until she obediently covered her eyes with her hands. “I can't have you hacking into my home, too. I'll catch you if you ever attempt to.”

“What a terrifying threat,” she drawled, smiling.

“There's cameras in the hallway to spot intruders like yourself.”

Removing her hands with a loud breath, Marinette punched him lightly on his cloth-clad arm. “I was invited here! You can't just retract it because I didn't realise you're ridiculously sensitive about your code.”

Dramatically, Adrien clasped a hand over where she'd lightly tapped with a exaggerated expression. “You'll make fun of me if you know what it is.”

“I think I'll mock you anyway, actually.” She stuck her tongue out childishly. “Are we going to hover in the hallway awkwardly forever?”

“Come on, you,” the blond said with a laugh, grasping her bare wrist and tugging her forward into the apartment.

Her first thought was that it smelled too artificial, like there were too many air fresheners that were conflicting with each other in the rooms. There weren't many decorations on the neutral-coloured walls, nor were there personal items such as cushions, frames of photographs, or signs of life other than the furniture. It was large, yes, spacious without much furniture in the way, and she spied the leather couch that matched Nino's (a staple per each apartment, she supposed). There was a large television mounted on the wall across from the sofa, a coffee table that was much the same as Nino's, and large windows behind that showed a small balcony that was unused and absent of any belongings.

The first sign of it being a home was when she respectfully took her shoes off by the door—trying not to wonder how much the woven basket where he kept his shoes organised cost—and walked forward and promptly stepped on something soft and squishy.

“I'd suggest you kick that away before he finds you touching it.” Adrien was grinning, slipping off his shoes and pushing them aside with an easy expression. “Plagg's very protective of his things.”

Plagg— _Plagg_! Somehow the thought of him owning a cat had been shoved from her mind, and surely it showed on her surprised expression as he laughed and released her wrist from his gentle grip. The toy, which turned out to be fish-shaped and filled with what she assumed to be catnip, slid across the wooden flooring to the other side of the room, connecting with a small table that held a bowl filled with pot-pourri.

Her predictions of air fresheners turned out to be correct, which caused her to almost double over in laughter while he raised his eyebrows in confusion at her reaction. There was a large vase, complete with a plant that she suspected was fake since it looked healthy, with a hole in the middle to act as a storage unit. Adrien had instead placed a litter tray with a lid inside, tying multiple fresheners upon the handle in an attempt to stop the awful smell.

With a smile that reached her eyes, Marinette pointed towards the contraption and said, “I can't tell whether you're going overboard or if you're a genius.”

“Wait until you see what Nino does—I'm the smarter one of us two, I assure you.” He grinned. “Why don't you take a look around? I'll find out where Plagg is so he doesn't surprise us later.”

That was a surprise. “Sure,” the dark-haired female agreed, blinking. “Is anywhere off-limits?”

“No, don't worry,” he said, waving a hand dismissively as he looked around the room. “As long as I don't find you sniffing my underwear, feel free to investigate.”

The apartment was nice. The colour scheme was neutral, not filled with outrageous colours or patterns that would offend most guests, and there was a certain charm to it. The kitchen was bigger than her own, of course, with overhead cupboards and countertops that were made of expensive materials, and a dishwasher that replaced one cupboard. There was a small dining table with four chairs just to the side, along with two stools to sit at a separate countertop beside another large window. There was one bedroom—perhaps the downside to living in a hotel—with a large bed, storage, a desk that had a laptop messily charging upon it, and another adjoined balcony that was untouched, and a bathroom that included a bath _and_ shower that made the whole room bigger than her bedroom.

There was still a lack of personal belongings, other than the few pieces of clothing that were sticking out of the drawers. It was clear that Plagg was the one that made the apartment lived in, with his scratching post beside the bed where a bedside table used to be—it was shoved against the wall instead—and his two beds that were untouched and scattered across the room. In the kitchen there were even ceramic bowls that were fancier than the plastic ones she'd purchased for Tikki, and he even owned a mat to protect the floor from fallen food.

“Perhaps I should take notes,” she murmured, taking the bag off and letting it sit beside the sofa.

Adrien appeared from a door on the opposite side, where she hadn't looked in yet, with a smile. He explained that it was a small utility room where the washing machine and dryer was kept, along with cleaning products, and that Plagg liked to spend his time in there since it was kept warm despite the noise.

When she asked about the difference between his and Nino's apartments—other than the personal cat products and the strange vase—he shrugged and said he'd only noticed that his cousin's room was a shade of green that was blinding in the sun.

Somehow, when they sat down beside each other on the sofa, their time evolved from talking and laughing with each other to Adrien retrieving his previously charging laptop from his bedroom, opening a browser and searching for a video that he'd mentioned that she couldn't quite believe. Seeing the grin that grew across his lips from watching the silly videos made them worth it, and the antics that the kittens got up to in them amused her, too.

“I don't hate other animals,” Adrien pointed out as he clicked on another video, the laptop perched on his lap as they leaned back against the leather sofa. “There's just something charming about cats that I can't get over—I don't think I want to get over, actually.”

She could've said the same thing about him.

Nodding, Marinette made a noise of agreement. “And this is going to help me with Tikki how?”

That had been the start of the conversation, before he'd retrieved the device. He was happy to recount the tales of when Plagg was young, and how he'd managed to have the feline love him—and Nino, too—when he was usually wary around newcomers. He'd concluded long ago it was because they were abandoned as kittens, and earning the feline's trust had been his biggest accomplishment to date. From there on, he mentioned silly antics that Plagg had gotten up to, then recalled a video where another cat had done almost the exact thing, and that had transitioned into viewing short clips of kittens either doing something cute, or messing around; her education, he called it.

“I'm trying to teach you to expect the unexpected,” Adrien said with a grin, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. “And not to leave empty boxes out,” he added as he clicked on another video.

She laughed.

The dinner he prepared for nice—nothing was burnt or too dry—and he made a remark that it wasn't as good as Alya's, according to Nino. It turned out his cousin had constantly told him tales of the red-head's meals, since she'd been cooking since their first date if they didn't get take-out.

Adrien shook his head fondly when she asked about Nino's cooking. “He's awful at it,” the blond announced, sounding gleeful. “His mother was too happy to teach me after he failed far too many times. When he tried to cook for a date with Alya, I tried to teach him and even gave him written instructions to follow for that evening.”

That was news to her. Alya preferred not to boast about her countless dates—or sexual experiences other than the occasional comment or knowing look—and had chosen to mention sweet comments that Nino had made, rather than focusing on anything else. It was clear that the affection between the two of them wasn't purely sexual—which she'd been worried about at one point—and it was nice to know that they weren't messing around. Although it wasn't Marinette's place to judge her friend's relationships, it was nice for her to be in one where she was cherished, rather than viewed as a convenience.

“What happened?” she asked, smiling.

“No alarm, thankfully.” He laughed. “Alya went in to see what was taking him so long, and he was just staring at the stove, confused. He'd used the wrong spices so it tasted _awful—_ idiot brought a bowl of leftovers over and made me try it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Rose is awful at cooking, too. I'm usually asked to cook desserts since I tend to take longer with my university work.”

“That's a nice system,” he mused.

It was a lot better than some of the fabled living arrangements that she'd heard from her class-mates. “The only problem is the one bathroom, especially if someone falls ill.”

His grin grew. “Would it be romantic if I offered my bathroom to you any time?”

“I think it's only appropriate to call you a little shit.”

They agreed to watch a film after that. There weren't many left in one of his drawers since him and Nino shared them, and his cousin had taken an armful previously to make sure there was a nice selection to choose from. To her surprise, when she found a lot films that Nino was the starring role in, Adrien offered to point out the complaints that his cousin had made, especially about the actors that he was working with.

It was worth it, definitely. Her lungs had started to protest from laughter, tears pooling at the corner of her eyes, and just knowing that Nino thought that a background character was a jackass because of his attitude when they'd met one time was information that she'd never known she needed until then. Adrien was clearly pleased that she was enjoying his knowledge, and somewhere in the first half an hour he'd wrapped an arm around her shoulders loosely.

Her face was pressed against his chest at times when she laughed, trying to muffle the noise as her body shook and vibrated.

After the credit had rolled, Adrien tugged gently on her braid. “Ready for bed? I won't be offended if you want to stay up longer.”

She licked her lips. “I-I guess.”

There wasn't the fuss she expected of him insisting to sleep elsewhere—especially since there was only the sofa in the living room—and Adrien wiggled his fingers with a smile and promised not to touch her unless it was wanted. With blushed cheeks, she glared at him before retrieving her bag and venturing into the bathroom to change.

The weather was getting hotter, yet somehow her plans of packing pyjamas that she sometimes wore in the summer had been forgotten. The only clothing her bag contained was the extra pair of underwear, which she'd probably need if they were going to be sharing the bed together, and the thought of sleeping in her clothes wasn't appealing.

She cleared her throat as she walked into the bedroom to catch his attention.

Adrien was fiddling with the button of his jeans, expression surprised as he looked up. “That was sooner than expected,” he remarked.

“I—yeah,” the dark-haired female replied eloquently. “I forgot to pack pyjamas.”

“I see.” His lips curled into a smirk that was borderline inappropriate. “That's certainly an excuse to search through my drawers.”

Narrowing her eyes at his playful response, Marinette responded with a surprisingly stable voice, “Stop teasing me and fetch me some clothes, you stupid cat.”

As he opened a drawer and began to search through the clothing, he looked over his shoulder, winked and said, “Me-ouch.”

“Shut _up_.”

Insulting him jokingly or answering with a groan of some sort seemed to be the best compliment he could get from his ridiculous puns. When she could actually see his response to her reactions, she'd noticed that his grin grew when she became somewhat exasperated, so sometimes the groans were exaggerated to please him.

“Your clothes, your highness,” Adrien announced with a mocking bow, presenting the fabric in his outstretched hand. “Now unless you wish to watch me strip, I suggest you disappear for more than a few seconds.”

Grasping the clothes, she rolled her eyes. “I could record it and sell it as the beginnings of a sex-tape.”

“Then I'll just have to reveal I'm happily in a relationship with a pesky girl who doesn't appreciate me,” the blond retorted, voice shaking with laughter. With a gentle push to her shoulders, Marinette stumbled for a moment as she was ushered to the bathroom. “Shoo.”

“Yes, _your highness_ ,” Marinette mocked.

She could hear his laughter through the door.

The clothing fit, thankfully. It was a dark t-shirt with a logo on it, along with some suspicious black fur that she assumed to be Plagg's, and loose underwear that covered her like shorts. Any shorts he wore would've been too big and uncomfortable, so it was a nice thought so she wouldn't have to walk around self-consciously.

He was already in the bed when she came out. Marinette spied the discarded clothing on the back of his desk chair, and shuffled underneath the plush covers onto the mattress that was a lot better quality than she was used to.

When she went to get up to turn the lights off, Adrien stopped her with a warm palm tugging onto her wrist so she was in the bed once more, and reached beside the bedside table to flick a switch there.

She blinked. “Well, that's handy.”

“I get to be lazy and not trip over anything on the floor in the darkness, so yes.” He grinned, patting the bed beside him. “We could make a wall of pillows between us if that'll make you more comfortable.”

Marinette laughed. “You're ridiculous.”

“Just trying to make you comfortable.” There was rustling as he turned onto his side to look her way in the darkness. Through the curtains, there was the faint outline of his body so she could see whenever he moved. “You don't have to sleep on the edge of the bed, Marinette.”

She hadn't realised. “Oh.” Awkwardly shuffling closer, aware that his pillows were loud with movements, Marinette laid her head in the middle and licked her lips. “I'm just not used to this, I guess.”

“I promise not to make any untoward advances?” he offered softly, duvet shifting as his hand sought out hers underneath it.

Intertwining their fingers, she confessed, “It's not that—I trust you, Adrien. My last boyfriend was back when I still lived with my parents, and they weren't exactly welcoming to having boys spending the night in my room.”

It was one of the first times they'd mentioned their past relationships. It wasn't a topic that Marinette had been particularly worried about—so what if Adrien had dated previously? He had chosen to be with her, and she wasn't going to worry and curse his ex-girlfriends because of it. It wasn't healthy to obsess over such information, therefore she was just going to shove those topics out of her mind to her best ability.

And yet, there she was mentioning it. “N-not that I _tried—_ ”

“Hey.” He squeezed her hand gently, thumb tracing obscure patterns on her skin. “Can you imagine how awkward _my_ father would've been if I tried to bring girls back home? I'm pretty sure he would've had them escorted out and blacklisted from returning.”

She laughed at the image. “My parents made sure the door was left open, even if climbing the ladder got harder as the years caught up to them. Sometimes my father would bang the end of a broom against it if I forgot.”

Well, if bringing up the topic of their parents when they were partially dressed and sharing a bed together wasn't a good choice for the atmosphere, she couldn't think of anything else much worse at that moment. Marinette winced at their conversation, wondering how her insecurities had somehow evolved into mentioning their parental figures at all.

“How about a kiss before I stay firmly on the other side for the rest of the night?” Adrien suggested, smile clear in his voice.

She shifted against the mattress. “I suppose so.”

It shouldn't have been a surprise that he teased her in the end. No longer holding hands beneath the duvet, Adrien brushed aside the dark strands from her forehead and placed a chaste kiss on the skin there before retreating back to his side of the bed, where he mischievously said, “Night, Marinette.”

In the end, she found out two things from sleeping beside him. Adrien had a terrible habit of fidgeting in his sleep and stealing all the duvet—meaning she woke up to a draft to see him curled around in what resembled a ball and looking rather comfortable—and that after she'd managed to even out the covers between the two of them again, the next time she woke up there was someone else in the bed with them.

Plagg had finally revealed himself. When she opened her bleary eyes in confusion from the warmth on her face, she hadn't expected it to be any part of the feline at all; so, to see him curled up sweetly on her pillow and pushing her off of it, his back pressed against her cheek and close to covering her nose, too, she made a croaky noise of confusion.

Adrien had stolen most of the covers in the night again. He was facing towards her—or, rather; Plagg—with a innocent expression and lips parted as he breathed deeply. His hair was a lost cause, sticking out in each direction and some stuck to his cheeks. The sunlight streaming in beneath the curtains gave her a rough estimate of the time—since he didn't have a clock in his bedroom—and her cell phone was more than an arms reach away.

She sat up, wiping her tired eyes to appear presentable and attempted to tame the messy hairs upon her head as the male beside her shifted. In response, Plagg stretched out and touched his paws to Adrien's face with a content noise.

“Plagg,” the blond complained in a hoarse voice, expression contorting in distaste. “It's too early, go away.”

The paws didn't move.

He grumbled, “Stupid cat.”

“I'm insulted,” Marinette teased, reaching over and poking him beside where a paw was. “Am I that easy to forget?”

There was surprise written across his expression as he opened his sleepy eyes—still half-lidded and dry lips parted—and blinked, taking in her more put together appearance than his. Adrien groaned, pushing Plagg's paws away and wiping his tired eyes as he murmured something unintelligible, looking as though he'd prefer to go back to sleep in the end. It was understandable; his sleeping schedule was erratic, and she was used to waking up early in the mornings from back when she'd lived with her parents.

With a shy kiss to his cheek—making sure the feline wasn't jostled from the movement—Marinette excused herself to the bathroom. When she returned, Adrien was sitting up on the bed with his hair still rumpled, and a playful cat rolling around upon the duvet on his lap.

She grinned. “Is it always like this in the morning?”

“Unfortunately.” Adrien yawned, covering his mouth with a hand. “Sometimes he actually claws my face and becomes more forceful if I feign sleep for too long.”

Laughing, Marinette reprimanded, “Don't try and trick him, them.” Rather than joining him underneath the covers, she sat upon the top, leaning her weight on an arm as she tucked her legs together and grinned when they made eye contact. “Morning.”

“Hello to you, too.” He cleared his throat, hands fiddling with the black-haired feline. “No nightmares about any untoward advances?”

“No, my virtue has been protected nicely by this furry newcomer, thankfully.” Her lips curled into a teasing grin, gesturing with her chin towards the purring feline in his hands. “He was a gentleman until he stole my pillow while I was sleeping.”

His chortle was thick from sleep. “Well, we can't be having that if you're staying over again—if you want to, that is.”

And with that said, he gently shoved Plagg off onto the duvet, causing the feline to make a noise of protest before he sprinted off out of the room, leaving the two of them alone together. She offered him a tentative smile, nervousness clearly shown in her expression, as their eyes met each other, and the kind grin complete with dimples comforted her greatly. Although she'd seen him with multiple expressions, and in various photographs from specific jobs for his career, the sight of him with sleepy eyes, mused hair and a sleepy expression even as he grinned at her couldn't be beaten. There was something intimate about seeing him like that, and her heart swelled that she was allowed to be that person; and hopefully, he'd feel the same about seeing her with marks on her face from a pillow.

To show her appreciation, Marinette leaned over, one hand keeping her upright and resting on the mattress, while the other tangled in his already messy hair, grasping at the strands gently. Her lips hovered by his, the feeling of hot breath washing over her skin as she closed her eyes, and tentatively pushed forward to close the distance. There wasn't hesitation in his reaction; Adrien wrapped his arms around her waist in a loose embrace, the pleasant movements of their lips somewhat lazy and comfortable, a steady pace that had their breaths mingling together and her heartbeat increasing in a wanton fashion.

As his tongue languidly stroked the length of her bottom lip, Marinette hummed in appreciation and opened her mouth to accept his advance, feeling the curve of his smile against his lips. There wasn't much that could beat the warmth that blossomed in her tummy when they touched intimately, and when he began to stroke the skin underneath her shirt softly, the pulse between her legs beat steadily, demanding attention and friction. Compliant to her wants, the dark-haired female hummed against his mouth as she readjusted, moving and shuffling so she could place a leg on either side of his, effectively straddling him so his back was against the headboard.

One of the hands that had been teasing the flesh of her lower back slid upwards as their kiss continued, skimming the area where her brassiere would usually sit.

Nipping her lower back, Adrien withdrew and with a breathy voice questioned, “No bra?”

The sound of his voice did wonders for her pulse.

She licked her lips. “Not to sleep in.”

Enclosing her mouth with his once more, a sensation of warmth and pleasure all rolled into one, Marinette allowed a moan to slip as he gentle fingers glided over her skin, nails scraping lightly to remind her where they had been as a shiver ran down her spine. Her arms looped around his neck loosely, tangling their tongues together loosely, and unconsciously arched her back as he trailed his fingertips to stroke the soft flesh of her ribcage.

With a not-so-subtle movement of her cloth-clad lower-half, Marinette brushed against his matching arousal in what she hoped to be encouragement.

It was his turn to groan.

Gently, his warm hand cupped one of her breasts, the heated flesh of his welcomed against hers as a spiral of pleasure coiled in her abdomen. There was no denying her reaction was positive, and as he lightly rubbed his thumb against her nipple, the gasp that escaped her lips as their kiss was broken was more than enough to cause his lips to curl into a wide smile.

The warmth in her abdomen flowed through her body, coursing downwards and causing the pulse between her legs to pick up—thundering, _demanding—_ as she blinked, cheeks burning from the sensations.

There wasn't room for talking as Adrien placed one chaste kiss to her lips before they pressed against her jawline, light pecks against her skin as he continued until he was leaving a wet trail on the flesh of her neck that caused shivers when his breath blew over them. And as she could feel his smile against her, her fingertips lazily caressed his hair and breaths became louder as their ministrations continued, and her hips continued to rock in a slow, but steady, pace. There was less clothing between them—both in some sort of underwear that he owned—and she could clearly feeling him between her legs, and that only spurred her on.

It was because of her that he was like that. And as his fingertips gently trailed across her nipple once more before retreating to caress her in a whole once more, she closed her eyes and began to lose herself to the sensations.

His breaths were louder than before, a clear sign of their shared enjoyment in their movements, and she grew more confident as she shifted her hips once more. There was no worry of having to walk around in sticky underwear once more—she'd thankfully thought ahead—and she doubted she would've stopped if there had been. There wasn't anxiety running through her, or the worry that they wouldn't cease their actions when it all became too much. Although they had almost been dating for two months, they were pushing on the borders that they'd set for themselves and were testing them with gentle and intimate movements that had her biting her lips in pleasure.

The hand that wasn't cupping her breast had been tracing soothing patterns on her lower back until then. Then, to her surprise, it dropped lower, soothing over the shape of her buttocks through the material until it came to bare thigh.

Her breath caught as he slipped underneath the underwear, coming into contact with her own and trailing across the material and humming in appreciation into her neck.

“Isn't it redundant to wear two?” Adrien questioned with a grin, nipping the skin by her jugular.

The needy pulse between her legs was relentless. “Yours are big enough to be shorts on me.”

“That's true,” the blond murmured, fingertips tracing along the arch of her thigh were the material met her skin. “You could accidentally flash me if you bent over.”

“I'll leave if you continue to talk such nonsense,” Marinette replied, wiggling her hips to emphasise her point. “You can be so frustrating sometimes.”

An amused breath left him. “I think I can be sometimes, too.” And with that said, he shifted his hips right back, the first time he'd done so, the friction of the fabric shifting causing her to bite her lower lip. “Thrust-trating, that is.”

Marinette's eyes snapped open, expression caught beneath disbelief and honest surprise as she pulled back, tugging on his hairs to make him look her in the eyes. “You did _not_.”

“You set yourself up for that one.” His grin grew, dimples on display, as the smile reached his eyes. “And I don't think you minded it all too much.”

“I hate you,” the dark-haired female replied, purposely grouchy. “If beds can't be a pun-free zone, then what else isn't safe?”

Adrien's thumb lightly swiped over the protrusion of her breast once more, breath catching in her throat in response. “I promise not to make bad jokes if you take a shower with me.”

“We'll see about that,” she mumbled, leaning forward to rest her head in the crook of his neck, lips ghosting across the exposed skin there. “For now, I'd very much like to finish what we're doing.”

As he laughed, she could feel the vibrations. “I think I can help you with that.”

She bit his neck gently, willing him to stop talking so there wouldn't be the need to make ridiculous puns any more, since she didn't much feel like groaning with laughter while feeling sticky between her legs any time soon. It seemed he had much the same idea as the hand near her buttocks retreated, intention clear as he tugged on the material of his underwear in a silent request for them to be gone.

There was redness to her cheeks as she briefly stood up to rid herself of the shorts before she was seated upon his lap once more, wriggling as his clothed arousal was pressed against hers and offering warmth despite the material.

As their lips connected, a hum of approval escaping her from the action, one of his hands caressed her exposed buttocks, kneading the offered flesh there as he smiled against her lips.

She shifted her hips, searching for friction.

He seemed to understand her silent want. Adrien withdrew his hips slightly, still with his back pressed against the pillows and headboard, as the hand that had previously been caressing her buttocks instead disappeared, and a teasing finger trailed along the dampened material of her underwear.

The grin across his lips was smothered with her kisses.

Not needing any more prompting, his slender fingers tugged at the soft fabric, allowing the cool air to caress her exposed flesh as heated fingertips gently touched her aching flesh. Any compliments that he could've uttered were muffled and muted by her searching lips, happily playing with the golden strands of his hair, gripping and tugging as their breaths grew louder.

His fingers ventured further, trailing along her protrusion and causing her to breathe in a gasp of pleasure as he teasingly stroked her.

Their lips were reddened and damp when they broke apart, making eye contact for a moment as she blinked, before the grin grew across his lips—the attractive sight was her doing, making pride swell in her already fast beating heart—and a single digit caressed her, searching deeper and dipping inside her entrance.

Marinette's breaths were heavy, heaved and she rolled her hips to match his movements as he tentatively began to move his fingers. Once more she found her head resting on his cloth-clad shoulder, panted breaths released against his neck where the skin looking inviting and bare, eyes falling closed as her lips parted and peppered intimate kisses along the flesh of his neck.

As the seconds passed and the only sounds were their breaths, the loud and demanding pulse within her head, and the wet sounds that her body produced as another finger joined to caress her sensitive flesh. A sigh of satisfaction escaped, turning into a loud breath as his thumb gently rubbed her cleft as he continued his actions. There wasn't hesitation in his movements, and the sheer pleasure meant that the tingling within her abdomen had crashed downwards, the coiling building up into a bundle of frantic want.

She rolled her hips, unconsciously causing his fingers to reach further.

“I've wanted to see you like this for so long,” he murmured lowly, voice hoarse.

And as he said that, his fingertips brushed against the nerves within her, causing a breathy moan to escape, and her hands to tighten within her hair. The kisses on his neck became somewhat sloppy as his movements continued, eyes clenched shut as she teetered along the edge of pleasure she was craving.

Before long her muscles clenched, noises somewhat muffled against his heated flesh—where she was sure she'd left a small mark from their actions—and her legs shook for a few moments as pleasant feelings rippled through her.

She blinked lazily, still resting against him for a sense of support as his fingers gently retreated, the soiled material fully on once more. Her face was flushed, damp, hairs sticking to her skin in an uncomfortable way, and looking at him from the corner of her eyes proved that he was much the same, too.

After licking her lips, she questioned softly, “Should I—”

Adrien shifted, the prominent feeling of his erection pressed against her dampened underwear. “I—no, it's fine.”

She frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” A soft kiss was placed onto her sweaty forehead as he moved their bodies. “I need to go to the bathroom anyway.”

She shuffled off of his lap, sitting back down onto the mattress and pushed the hair from her face. “Oh, okay.”

“I'll have you know that peeing while aroused is the hardest thing, though.” There was restrained laughter in his voice, and it took her a few moments to understand what he meant exactly.

Perhaps it was the pleasant feeling from her body that had caused her mind to work slowly, but as soon as the ridiculous joke clicked, the expression on her face must've made it clear that she understood. Adrien burst into guffaws, clearly pleased with himself, and had the gall to wink before he retreated to the bathroom.

Raising her voice so he could hear, Marinette retorted, “I'm _done_ with you!”

-x-

There was kissing, quite a lot of it, and breakfast that she helped to make before she set out to walk home mid-afternoon. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, and Adrien had promised to message her when he got the chance at an event he was visiting that evening. There hadn't been any worries of him cheating on her, not really, so when he insisted to inform her of what he got up to, so he could disprove any rumours that would be published on blogs or magazines, she responded by kissing him firmly on the mouth.

There was just something endearingly sweet about him. Marinette confessed that she trusted him, and that it was fine as he'd been nothing but sincere about their relationship, and he'd smiled so brightly that her cheeks had burned and thoughts flickered back to their intimate morning that hadn't been ruined by the arrival of his cat, thankfully.

Although there were more than a few people in the lobby, and that she could spy in the dining hall which had the doors open, there weren't any reporters waiting for a glimpse of him. Adrien had kissed her good-bye at the elevator at her insistence, and she insisted she was fine to walk back on her own.

That didn't stop him from messaging her and asking if she was okay, though. Her smile grew once more, reaching her cerulean eyes that surely portrayed her happiness, as she returned the gesture and asked how long until he had to disappear to get ready. If Adrien had his way, he would've appeared at the function in jeans and a t-shirt, apparently, and he was constantly reminded of the pressure to dress fashionably because of his famous father. He'd told her a story of when he was younger, and he wore a pair of shorts with a hole in them once abroad—the tabloids had posted that picture a lot, and his father had scolded him for not checking beforehand.

There was someone outside of their apartment building again. If it wasn't for the black bag that was resting against their hip, red-and-black buttons standing out on the strap, paired with the black hood, then she wouldn't have connected the dots. They weren't taking pictures of their residence that time, yet anger bubbled in her chest as her footsteps increased in volume and she approached.

Perhaps it was the anger showing in her expression,or they were naturally a coward, but when they caught a glimpse of her they balked. Much like the last time, the dark figure started to clutch their belongings and run away.

So, she ran after them.

They weren't an athlete, but neither was she. Her breaths were heaved, face surely red from the exercise and a mixture of anger and frustration. They ducked into an alleyway, probably thinking that they'd lost her, and she slowed down and made sure her footsteps were quiet.

She could hear their laboured breaths, meaning they were resting against the brick wall and attempting to regain their composure.

Well, if they hadn't run away both times, she wouldn't have been suspicious enough to actually follow them. Even though the pictures from the angles they'd taken hadn't ended up on the internet didn't mean she wasn't worried. As she rested a hand on the wall and peered around the corner, she wondered whether she was being too judgemental, too quick to jump to conclusions.

The hood was pushed off as they rested their back against the wall. She took in the wavy black hair that rested just above his dark eyebrows, the dark skin that was shimmering with perspiration, and there was the nagging feeling that he looked somewhat familiar and she couldn't place it.

Frustration was clear in her voice as she asked, “Why do you keep running away?”

“O-oh,” he wheezed, a hand pressed against his surely beating heart. “I—”

His eyes were green, too.

“Do I know you?” Marinette asked instead, eyebrows knitting together as her irritation grew. There was something about him that she recognised, but she couldn't put her finger on it. “Are we class-mates or something?”

Shaking his hand, causing wavy strands to move, the stranger replied in a timid voice, “No—I-I'm—”

“Take the time you need to catch your breath,” she offered when it became clear he wasn't going to bolt again. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

There was a few minutes of awkward silence where his breaths became slowly more steady, not quite as loud or ragged, and his skin began clear as he wiped his damp forehead dry. She stood there unsure, arms crossed beneath her breasts with cell phone still clutched in her hand as a precaution. There was bound to be a message from Adrien since before she'd started her chase, but it wasn't the time to look at it. Hopefully, he wouldn't be busy for the event before she'd finished with the newcomer that had her awfully confused.

“Thank you, Marinette,” the male said, voice more stable.

She stilled, expression uncertain.

“Oh, no! I'm n- _not_ —I'm not a stalker, I swear!” That was not at all reassuring. “Please, I—please don't tell Rose about this.”

The mention of her friend's name had the confusion displayed on her expression increase, and before long a cold realisation that she really had jumped to conclusions ran through her. If they were taking pictures for the purpose of selling them, they would only be there for either her or Alya—and since Alya hadn't been revealed back then, her assumptions had been self-involved.

“I'm sorry,” Marinette offered, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “Are you a friend of Rose's?” Friends didn't take photographs of each other's homes without a good reason, and since the blonde hadn't mentioned anything of the sort, she decided to still tread carefully.

“I hope so?” It came out as a question. The male pushed himself off of the wall, wiping a hand on his jeans before offering it out to her. “My name's Ali. Rose was kind enough to help me before, and I was trying to return the favour.”

Ali—there was one male with the name of Ali that she knew of, and the realisation had her blinking in shock, wide eyes gazing at the suspicious-looking clothes the male wore in surprise. He had been the one that had landed himself in the hospital, back when Rose had broken her arm.

She swallowed audibly. “The one with a crush on her, right?” the dark-haired female asked before wincing, realising how awful it sounded. “I mean—well, yes. That's exactly what I mean, I'm sorry.”

“I'm not stalking her!” he felt the need to say, dropping his hand when she didn't shake it (she winced, not realising that she'd forgotten to). “I know she's married, and I promised to back off.”

Right. Rose had blurted that she was married in panic, and although she really was in a relationship—with Alix—they certainly weren't anywhere near that hurdle in their love (if it could even be classed as that—they were still infatuated).

Her nod prompted him to continue. “S-she kept me company in the hospital, even made those adorable scrapbooks and took care of me, and refused anything in return. I—I think I offended her by offering money or gifts. It wasn't my intention to do so, so... I, well—”

“So you decided to take pictures of where she lives?” Marinette supplied, an awkward hand gesturing to the street where they'd ran along. “And ran away when you saw me, for some reason.”

“She showed me pictures of you and... Alya?” At her confirmation, a small smile played on his lips. “Yes, I apologise. I'm not quite suited for an undercover job, I suppose.”

A hesitant laugh escaped her lips. “What exactly is your intention? I think Rose is under the assumption that you were only here for a holiday.”

“I was— _am_.” He looked nervous. “I was going to contact the owner to maybe fill in the holes in the driveway, or perhaps upgrade the security. _Something_.”

All he had was good intentions that weren't being portrayed properly. “You do know that's kind of weird, right?” Marinette said bluntly, a laugh of disbelief following afterwards. “Just offer to pay for lunch or something. Make it clear that it's not a date, and I'm sure she'll be fine with that. Rose is always happy to spend time with friends.”

“Do you think we're friends?” he questioned, dark eyebrows knitting together.

“Yeah, if you don't do anything weird,” she replied, gesturing to his outfit that looked spotless. “Maybe dress like a normal person instead of a hoodlum, too.”

He blinked. “I was trying to be inconspicuous.”

“All you did was make me think you're a reporter or a weird blogger,” Marinette pointed out. “Nice intentions and all, but just message her, okay? Just because you got rejected doesn't mean you can't be friends in the normal way.”

“Okay,” Ali replied, voice soft. “Okay.”

_PREVIEW: “They want an interview with Marinette? How does that even make sense?”_


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for their final year! There'll be drama soon, so this is filled with downtime featuring their budding relationship and the happenings of Marinette's life. Thank you, as always, for the support.

  _Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc_

The box filled with products for her to feature in pictures in May came, and Marinette was baffled at some of the items—there was even a specific brand of lotion, which caused multiple arguments between the three of them (if exasperated comments to each other could've been classed as that). In the end, they settled for a picture in the sunlight and mentioning the weather that was becoming warmer with the bottle in the background.

She felt like she was tricking a few people with the subtle endorsement—she questioned whether it was subtle or not at times—but it served a purpose. A make-up company had offered a large amount of money for Lady to advertise their products, but they had to decline since it had to include a face reveal to be the most effective. There had been a few others which Alya didn't see necessary to mention, and Marinette trusted her in the long run. She wasn't doubting her friend's ability to sort through all the business offers, nor somehow manage a blog in her free time successfully without having the quality falter; they were admirable traits that made her grateful to have the red-head as her friend even more so.

When she expressed her concerns with Adrien about the deals, he assured her that it was normal. When he pointed to different pictures that he'd posted in the past, from the insistence of his manager, she realised that he was correct—it was a common place tactic that she'd hadn't been involved with. Now that Lady was gaining popularity by the tenfold, it was understandable that she'd be offered the same things that most that were active on the internet were.

“Thank them for the product in the description if you want it to be obvious,” the blond added helpfully, voice slightly static from her cell phone's reception. “You can always say no, too. Don't forget that's an option if you really don't like something.”

“Okay.” She nodded contemplatively despite the fact he couldn't see. “Thank you, master.”

His laugh was wonderful to hear. “If you really want to be my protégé, you'd allow me to be in pictures with you.”

“Not happening,” Marinette replied lightly, not at all concerned that he'd be offended from the fast rejection. “Lady is an elusive creature—no one knows who she is. If you came into focus with her, I don't know whether the attention would be because of you.”

“You make it sound like you consider her your alter ego,” he pointed out, sounding amused. “I get it, don't worry. You sound just like Nino when he started acting.”

That was true, yes. “I'm not going to keep our relationship a secret for practically a decade, Adrien.”

“Excellent.” She was tell he was smiling. “I don't think I could handle it if you did. Since Lady is off-limits, does that mean I can do something for you normally?”

She blinked. “What does that mean exactly? If you want to come visit my university, it might be an awful idea.”

“I'm not that spontaneous, I'm afraid,” the blond continued. “Hey, _hey_! I have a great idea—no, don't shoot it down instantly. Hear me out, okay?”

Warily, she kept her lips pressed together so she wouldn't interrupt. When he was finished, she knew there were merits to the suggestion, and combined with the fact that he was looking up the free dates in his schedule to see whether he really could pull through with the idea had her shaking her head in fondness. With the promise to make sure he had permission first, his excitement was contagious. In return for him helping her out in his own way, however, Adrien had a request that had her freezing in nervousness as soon as it was mentioned.

“I—are you sure?” She licked her lips in a self-conscious movement, even though she was alone. “That's... it's a kind of a big deal, isn't it?”

His laugh filled her with comfort. “It's not a secret that we're dating, Marinette. Nino and I do webcasts often, so I don't see the harm of having you and Alya there, if possible. If anything, it'll answer some of the questions that people have.”

“I guess,” she reluctantly agreed, running a hand through the dark strands of her hair. “Am I asking Alya or will Nino do that?”

“Nino will probably have his own way of convincing her which I _really_ don't want to be around for.” The suggesting had her laughing underneath her breath. “Is there any day that you'll be particularly busy? To give me a rough time frame, I mean.”

Humming so he could hear, Marinette searched through her upcoming schedule, taking note of the time she'd already dedicated on paper for her project work, before she answered him. He was excited with the thought of having the four of them together, especially if they were going to be answering questions from his and Nino's fans, that she hadn't yet responded to—there were bound to be questions about Alya's attempts to rile them up, which caused the two of them to chortle from their predictions.

They agreed that even though the internet at her apartment was okay, it was probably best not to antagonise Rose by taking up a good portion of the kitchen. The blonde clammed up still when Nino was mentioned, but their conversations didn't end in mood swings, thankfully.

Ali had contacted her per Marinette's advice, though. He and Rose met up for the day where the blonde-haired female came clean and admitted that she'd lied about being married. When she saw his hopeful expression, she blurted out about Alix and had thoroughly embarrassed herself in the process. Rose's face was tinged pink as she recounted their time spent together, moaning into her hands that he felt that he needed to repay her kindness despite her assurances that it was the right thing to do in her eyes.

Although he hadn't admitted that he was the one taking pictures of their apartment, when the potholes by the parking lot were filled, Marinette kept her mouth shut about who the investor was. There were a few security cameras littered around the front and back, though the rest of the security was much the same. Anyone could walk in and explore the floors if they walked behind an occupant that held the door open for too long.

She saw Adrien once before they gathered for the webcast. They'd spent an hour or two within her bedroom—door shut despite Alya's motherly advice to leave it open or else she'd ground her—and put a video on her laptop to play. The time was filled with touches that weren't intimate, and kisses that became heated towards the end before his cell phone rang, effectively ruining the mood as he cursed, saying he had to leave.

Alya was filled with excitement paired with a large grin as they walked through the streets together. The red-head was more familiar with the way, therefore Marinette wasn't worried about following the directions she had noted down within her cell phone, instead she fiddled with her braids nervous as they approached.

“You're going to curse at people, aren't you?” she asked casually, looking at her friend from the corner of her cerulean eyes.

The only response she got to that question was a noise eerily akin to a cackle—it was clear she was excited, even more so than when she'd insisted on posting intimate pictures sheerly to assert their intimate relationship to those that had been sending her rude comments.

It was strange, really. The build up for her relationship with Adrien, the very reason she'd unknowingly contacted him, was due to a remark about her over half a year ago. She'd watched Nino's interview and then the following webcast with mixed feelings, and she still felt mortified for assuming Adrien's identity without confirmation—it wasn't as though he'd made it any easier with the cryptic names, yet she couldn't make him shoulder all of the blame.

As long as word didn't reach Nino any time soon about her assumptions, then she wasn't going to have to dig a hole in the ground and crawl in it. Alya would laugh hysterically when she found out—not if, _when—_ and she hoped to avoid that for as long as possible.

“Stop fiddling with your hair, Mari,” Alya reprimanded her, wrapping a hand around her wrist to pull her away from her braids. “You look fine, stop being so nervous. There's no reason to get so worked up about this.”

She glared at her half-heartedly. “We've seen it before—there's going to be _thousands_ of people watching, and it's not for us. They don't even know we're going to be there!”

“Think of us as a bonus,” was the response she got.

Nino's apartment was very similar to his cousins. From a peek in his bedroom, it was confirmed that the walls were green as Adrien had mused, and when she spotted the litter tray, she almost doubled over from laughter. The red-head beside her didn't bat an eyelash at the odd display, only patting her back comfortingly to help her avoid choking. When Adrien had muttered that Nino was the creative one of the family, well, he wasn't kidding. The litter tray was hidden within a small tent, that was permanently left open, and shoved into the corner rather than hidden in a vase like Adrien had.

Nino tried to play the part of perfect host, offering drinks and trying to get them comfortable on the sofa while they waited for Adrien to arrive. When the couple started to get cosy together while discussing the options for dinner, the dark-haired female politely excused herself and climbed the stairs to the next floor.

After a few knocks that received no answer, Marinette had started to turn around and walk back down, only to hear the telltale noise of the door unlocking. She grinned as Adrien looked at her in surprise, trying to keep a struggling Plagg against his chest so he wouldn't run away.

“Am I late?” he asked, fiddling with his keys. At the shake of her head, he looked suddenly pleased within himself as he moved closer, arm touching her chest as he awkwardly handed the feline over without warning. “Hold onto him for a bit, please. I need to lock the door.”

The panic clearly showed on her face as she tried to move her arms to hold onto him effectively in a way that wouldn't cause harm to herself in the process. It was awkward, something she wasn't familiar with despite the pictures of her holding cats when she was younger. Plagg wasn't protesting fully, though; he didn't bite her, not were his claws out and slashing anything that he could. He was wriggling in quiet protest, calm for long enough for her to quickly pass him back to Adrien after he'd closed the door.

She checked her arms for scratch marks after, pleased that were none. “Does he usually slip away when you lock your door?”

“No, no.” Adrien shook his head, strands of blond-coloured hair falling onto his forehead. “Nino's usually here to take him when we do this. Otherwise we have to try and catch Plagg before he runs through any open door because he's an expert at getting away while we're distracted.”

She laughed. “I'm sure.”

“One time he slipped out of my arms and I found him in the elevator. It was pretty odd, actually,” he told her with laughter clear in his voice. “Sometimes he manages to get through the door to the stairs then there's a lot of groaning and chasing him before he gets out into the lobby. I'm pretty sure we'd be kicked out if that happened—they have a strict on leashes or inside carriers rule.”

She idly wondered whether Tikki would do any of the mentioned things. The feline was still reserved and stuck to herself, Marinette had seen her eating a few times, which helped to prove that she wasn't going to avoid eating just to stay out of the way of her new flat-mates. Rose and Alya had said they'd seen glimpses of her coloured fur from the corner of their eyes—and certainly smelled the litter tray at times—but that was the limit to their interactions. They tried to make sure that one of them stayed there in the evening, to make sure nothing went wrong, and closed the door slowly after confirming that Tikki wasn't there (in fear of either slamming the door on her, or the feline disappearing into the distance).

Adrien had promised that their next date outside would involve visiting the largest pet-store locally, the one that he preferred to buy his items from for Plagg. It was an hour away from her parents' pâtisserie, so it was with the idea to visit them in the same day. He was more than willing to interact with her parents despite how terrified she would've been, and she quietly pointed out that they probably wouldn't be able to stay in her bedroom for the night. The last time he'd dropped her off at her childhood home, he'd stayed in a nearby hotel rather than impose upon them for the first time.

Nino and Adrien each had copies of each other's keys and shared their codes, so the blond was able to open the door without delay. As they crossed the threshold, she remarked, “When I left they were cuddling together. It might be worse now.”

Rolling his eyes, he set Plagg on the floor, who took a moment to stretch before running off through the apartment. High-pitched noise sounded from him, filling the quiet apartment from the previous silence and warning them that visitors had arrived.

“Hey, man,” Nino greeted, raising a hand with a large smile on his face. “We decided on pizza again, that fine?”

“Are we eating before or after?” Marinette questioned, fiddling with her clothes absent-mindedly.

Nino shrugged. “Whenever, I guess. It'll take a while to get here as it is, then the receptionist is more than happy to hold onto our food until we come downstairs to collect it.”

She blinked. “Collect?”

He raised his eyebrows further above the frames of his spectacles. “Can you imagine the unwanted attention we'd get if some delivery guy decided to tell his mates who he gave food to, and where? The staff's pretty chill about it as long as we tell them beforehand, and pay by card, of course.”

“That makes sense,” she agreed, knowing that Alya had handled her order. “I—oh, I guess we're starting soon, right?”

Adrien nudged her to sit down. “Whenever Plagg's calmed down and we've got the pages open. Do you want anything to drink?”

She shook her head.

There was more than enough room for the four of them to sit on the sofa together. A laptop was placed in front of them with one page open for comments, and Nino explained that he usually used their cell phones to pick questions out on different social media. The whole time she was nodding, swallowing a tad too loudly as she wiped her sweaty palms onto her clothing. Alya wasn't showing her nerves; then again, she was always good at acting confident despite her inner-worries.

When Adrien kissed her cheek and assured her it would be fine, she flushed, which caused the red-head to cackle beside her. Marinette reached out and gently shoved her friend, happy for once that the two of them were sat beside each other in the middle, unfortunately in focus of the webcam that Nino had attached. He even brought out a microphone complete with a stand, that stayed out of sight, saying that the one built into the laptop originally was terrible at picking up multiple voices.

She tugged on her hair once more before the webcast started.

Plagg was gnawing on one of his toys in the corner as Nino happily exclaimed, “Hey guys!”

It wasn't as nerve-wracking as she'd expected. Nino introduced each of them with dramatic hand gestures—that had Alya muffling her laughter from seeing just how excitable he was—and when it came time to answer questions to fill in the pregnant pauses, the horrible ones were purposely avoided while the nice ones were answered. Alya laughed heartily at a few, openly kissing her boyfriend on the mouth for more than necessary before Adrien cleared his throat to shift their attention back to them.

Later that evening, an image of Nino covering his lap with a pillow after that went viral.

They gorged on their dinner, putting different videos on in the background for noise as they talked through their mouthfuls. There was a moment where Marinette felt a pressure on her leg, and she shrieked when Plagg jumped onto her lap as a gateway to get upon the table, sniffing the box to see whether the food was desirable to him. Adrien chortled at that, kicking one of his toys from underneath the table so the feline ran off to catch it, rather than attempt to have their food.

When the sky had darkened and the food was finished, Nino offered to look after the cat for the night to grant them privacy, which was paired with a smirk and a wink from the red-head that gave Marinette a knowing look that was horribly inappropriate. She scrunched her facial features together to show her displeasure, though their interaction was ignored by the other two.

“Sure,” Adrien accepted. After contemplating for a moment, having stood up to stretch, he looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What do you want in return? There has to be something.”

Nino grinned, showing the whites of his teeth. “Yeah. Call Chloé so she'll stop messaging me, will you? It's distracting when she always asks if I'm with Alya at the time.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Right. I can do that.”

When Adrien gently slipped his hand into hers, she smiled. They walked to his apartment together, with him saying it was fine if she wanted to stay for the night, as he was more than happy to supply clothing to wear to bed once more.

Seeing as Alya hadn't packed anything, asking Rose to look after Tikki had been just in case they were back late, rather than staying for the night. Then again, clothing was a choice in the situations they were in. Marinette accepted his offer with a shy smile when she realised the late time; the constant nerves and sweaty palms had thrown her off kilter.

It wasn't long before she was clad in his underwear once more and a different t-shirt with an obscure logo upon it. Marinette clambered onto his bed, sighing from the softness of the sheets, and laughed as he placed light kisses to her exposed shoulder from the shirt falling askew.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” the dark-haired female questioned, the smile clear in her voice.

His breath blew against the wet marks from his kisses as he murmured, “ _Trying_?”

“So you are,” Marinette replied, raising a hand to fondly ruffle the golden strands of his hair, pleased with how they felt without styling products. “Is this a special occasion?”

“Every time I see you is,” he announced, grin large with dimples on full display as he pulled back to look her in the face. Her hand fell from his hair as he continued, “That's what I'd say if you wouldn't hit me.”

She resisted the urge to childishly roll her eyes. “You've already said it, Adrien. It doesn't work that way.”

He blew out his breath in an exaggerated fashion, causing the strands of hair on his forehead to move. “Sure it does. It's just like me saying just kidding after some rude comment.”

“That doesn't work.” She flicked his arm playfully. “And if this is your idea for pillow talk, then I have to tell you that this is quite disappointing. If anything, it makes me want to curl up in the duvet and ignore you even more.”

Pulling a dramatically shocked face, he placed a hand over his heart. “Even more? How dare you, Marinette. You're playing with my gentle heart.”

“ _I'm_ playing with it?” she grouched, poking his head for extra effect. “We could've avoided unnecessary drama if you just said that I used to play with you!”

As soon as a mischievous expression flashed across his face, she realised she said something to trigger it. Adrien's grin grew lopsided, reaching one eye, as he asked sweetly, “Why don't you play with me now, then? We can make up for lost time.”

She blinked. “You're unbelievable.”

“Shouldn't you be saying that after our play session?”

“Excuse me,” Marinette dismissed him, trying not to laugh aloud as she leaned back and started to wrap the duvet around herself, making sure to shuffle so she could roll within the contents. Adrien's laughter was sounding during the display, and it was only because of his weight upon half of it that her roll went around her body once.

Prodding her through the material, he asked with a voice shaking from laughter, “If I apologise, will you come out?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled. “This is my home now.”

“Well, it's kind of in my home... so does that mean it's mine, too?” Adrien questioned lightly, trying to tug the duvet from her tightened hands. Clearing his throat, his voice was as serious as he could muster at that moment as he stated, “I'm afraid I need to inspect your residence to make sure it's liveable, ma'am.”

Shifting so only some of her hair was peeking out of the top, Marinette retorted, “Come back with a warrant.”

There was rustling as he stood up, and a few seconds of peace before he was tugging at the duvet with both hands, effectively rolling her out of her. Marinette shot him a disgruntled look—hair mused, an exaggerated pout upon her lips—as he grinned in triumph, letting the duvet fall off of his side of the bed partially onto the floor.

“You're a menace,” she accused.

Raising an eyebrow, Marinette watched with a surprised expression as he pulled off his shirt, shooting her a wink when he caught her looking. She'd excused herself to the bathroom to change as she had in the past, assuming that he'd do the same when she was absent. Perhaps it was his subtle way of showing that he wasn't embarrassed to do so—which probably had to do with having been in various states of undress for his job—so it was with her trying not to avert her eyes that she watched him undress.

“Enjoyed the show?” Adrien asked as he sat down beside her, a wolfish grin across his lips.

She huffed. “It was okay. Not much personality put into the performance.”

“Oh, that hurts.” Shaking his head, Adrien placed the duvet upon them, making it so it was no longer mostly on the floor. “How about I give you a reason not to return to your home?”

Adjusting her pillow, Marinette deadpanned, “You destroyed my home.”

“It's back in perfect condition. You're just locked out for now,” he insisted, gesturing to it with his hands. “Can I kiss you now or do we really have to continue this dreadfully non-sexual conversation? I _did_ just strip for you.”

She laughed at that.

Marinette happily accepted the embrace, the legs locked through hers as she were side-by-side, kissing in a languid manner that wasn't frenzied or rushed. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips brushed against hers, reminding her briefly that she hadn't brought a toothbrush with her, and one of his hands cradled her jaw in a gentle way that always had her heart beating fast from the feelings conveyed through a simple action. His thumb moved in comforting nonsensical shapes, their mouths parting for increasingly ragged breaths that filled the silence between them, and she'd never felt quite as treasured as she did at that moment.

Even though they were partially dressed, he wasn't pushing her—he never did. He hadn't mocked her childish responses at times (he wasn't in the place to lecture her on that), hadn't condemned her for the initial confusion of their relationship, and even though she'd forgotten him, he was more than willing to re-build memories upon the forgotten ones. However she'd been as a child, it had been considered worthy enough by Adrien to grant her a lifelong friend that she had no idea about, and the never-ending kindness from him caused her closed eyes to feel hot.

To her mortification, a sniffle brought her spiralling emotions to give attention. He pulled away with an adorably confused expression, eyebrows pinched together, and he was immediately concerned when she opened her damp blue eyes.

His first response was to embrace her. Marinette was cradle din his arms as she wiped at her pooling eyes, trying to get her feelings under control as she took in audible breaths that were coming out sporadically. She was red-faced from embarrassment, not needing to be told that starting to cry while kissing someone was considered an awkward situation.

When she'd regained her breath, he asked in a good humour, “Is my kissing really that bad?”

 _Goodness—_ what had she done to deserve him? Marinette laughed shakily, shaking her head from where it was resting upon his bare shoulder. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Sorry—I-I just...”

“Hey, it's fine,” he assured her quietly, tracing soothing patterns within the hairs on the nape of her neck. “Take your time. There's no one to interrupt us.”

Nor would there be a surprise companion in the morning, she realised. Marinette rubbed at her face once more, feeling the heat on her cheeks upon her palms which triggered more embarrassment despite his whispered words. “You—you're just so good to me,” she choked out, grimacing at the sound of her voice. “What did I ever do to deserve it?”

“Well, you _did_ hit me with a ball,” Adrien supplied happily, “which I'll remind you about every chance that I get. It was a spectacular first meeting.”

“No, really,” she pushed, snagging her lower lip with her teeth for a moment of self-consciousness. “Even after all this time, you're still putting up with me. What could I have done to deserve such— _such_ kindness from you?” The crack of her voice had her wanting to recoil into herself.

Stroking her hair, his voice was as soft as his actions as he replied, “What makes you think you had to earn it, Marinette? You were a wonderful friend and the highlight of my days back then; I think I loved you before I even knew what love was. Seeing you again—talking with you—it's all I could ever ask for.”

“Are you trying to say this is you expressing your childhood love? I—”

“No, I— _no_ ,” Adrien cut her off before she could ramble the feelings she was plagued with. “My fond memories of you are what made me want to talk to you again. The love I have for you now isn't child-like, I can assure you. It's because our interactions and time spent together, not from nostalgic memories of the past that only I can reminisce on.”

Clearing her throat, Marinette jokingly asked, “We've been dating for two months, isn't it too soon to pronounce our love to each other?”

“I'm proposing next week, watch out.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Do you need to get a tissue?”

“I—yes, I'll be right back.” Marinette excused herself with red-stained cheeks, taking longer than necessary in the bathroom as she splashed her face with water and stared at her reflection, wondering why her emotions had teetered on the brink that evening. She had been determined to keep her self-conscious thoughts, the doubts that didn't deserve to be said from her lips, all to herself without making him have to shoulder them. The sweet attempt of comforting her made her eyes grow hot once more, blinking furiously at the itching feeling and trying to regain her calm.

When she emerged with colouring around her eyes, that stood out against her pale skin, Adrien offered her a toothy smile. “I bought an extra toothbrush, if you need one. It's in the cabinet beside the mirror, still in the packaging. I promise you'll appreciate the design.”

“Is there anything you didn't think of?” she asked rhetorically, shaking her head from the continued kindness.

When she found the toothbrush, her laugh echoed around the room. It was meant for children, the handle designed to be a cat and had paws at that bottom to hold it up if needed. Marinette placed it in the ceramic pot beside his—which was _not_ for children—and rejoined him in bed with fresh breath and a solution for the morning.

There wasn't an extra companion in bed in the morning, so they were able to to lazily cuddle and wake up in their own time before they had prior arrangements to attend.

-x-

Adrien's idea that she'd agreed to eventually was coming underway. He had sounded so very excited when he'd pitched the idea to her, and she didn't have the heart to squash his hopes nor the infectious smile he was sporting as they were sat together in the back of his car with his silent chauffeur driving without staring at them in the mirror. She'd expressed her doubts of having a place for him to stay during the following day, or even in the evenings, and Adrien assured her that his job was to escort him between places, not babysit him inside and watch him sleep; therefore, he'd drop them off and then appear to keep guard during the day due to the inflated group of people that were sure to turn up.

Somehow, she'd gotten her parents to agree to him. Adrien was set to work—to the best of his abilities—in the pâtisserie for an afternoon, greeting guests and taking orders after he'd posted on social media that the make-shift event was taking place. He said it was his way of thanking them for being there for him when he was little, even though her parents hadn't been aware that it was him hiding behind the trees, out of sight. However, the blond was adamant that he wanted to help out in his own way, and providing his services was how his trail of thought had ended.

They pulled up outside Marinette's childhood home on Friday evening, after her classes and past his appointments so he could get them out of the way for the weekend. Marinette was playing with the material of her skirt nervously, wondering how her parents would react to him at all.

When they stumbled out of the car (at least, she did), she watched with surprised as his chauffeur pulled away, disappearing down the street without hesitation. “What did you say to get him to leave so soon?” Marinette questioned, surprised by the lack of suspicion.

Adrien's grin reached his viridian eyes. “I lied and said I'm spending the night at your parents'. There's no reason for him to stay if I don't need to change locations since he's off-duty for a non-work event.”

She didn't know whether to laugh or call him an idiot. “And if word gets back to him that you lied?” Or even his father, at that.

“Let's not think about that,” he tried to persuade her, snagging her hand in his and squeezing gently. “How about we focus on trying not to annoy your parents too much? Their names... they each have one of your two surnames, right?”

Blinking, she nodded in confirmation. “I—well, I don't really have any advice to give you. Just be prepared to break your diet when they realise that you only get to binge-eat once a week.”

A loud laugh escaped him. “I break my diet once a week, you mean. Don't tell anyone or I'll have to spend even more time at the gym, and that would result in even less time with you,” Adrien pointed out, shooting her a smile from that she could see from the corner of her eye. “You don't want that, do you?”

She hummed. “That depends on how annoying you're being. Perhaps I'll let it slip the next time you decide to take the duvet away from me.”

“Now that's just cruel.” He sniffed dramatically. “Can I do the honours of ringing the doorbell? I'm curious whether you have a special one or not.”

Not questioning the odd comment, Marinette gestured to the door, snorting to herself as he looked visibly excited pressing it. Her parents were welcoming and full of smiles as they invited the two of them inside, settling Adrien down on the couch and offering an assortment of beverages and food that was leftover from dinner (that Marinette had assured them they wouldn't make it in time for). The blond male had seemed conflicted at first, unsure whether he should accept their offerings, before accepting the next plate that was sent his way.

Seeing him with his cheeks protruding slightly as he chewed was a strange image, she mused. Sabine was as equally surprised as Mister Fu had been when Adrien displayed his knowledge of languages, and Tom was delighted when he was asked questions about Marinette's childhood. Any fears of them not interacting well together were squashed, and when her mother mentioned the family scrapbook, that had been inspired by young Rose's rapid obsession with them, that was when she had to draw the line.

When she casually said that Adrien should be getting to his hotel—which he hadn't booked, instead saying he was fine to find a nearby place, via taxi if needed—to her surprise, her father insisted otherwise.

“You're old enough to have your boyfriend stay for the night, Marinette,” Sabine assured her with an encouraging smile. “He has arranged something wonderful for us tomorrow, after all.”

There was many assurances that it was fine, even from her father towards her boyfriend when he pointed out that it was fine for him to leave, and by the time they had climbed the ladder up to the pink walls of her old room, she was feeling a bit dazed. It was beyond her expectations for them to treat him so welcomely, let alone insist that the ripe age of nineteen seemed to be old enough to finally have someone she's interested in within her room for the night.

“That went a lot differently than I thought,” Adrien mused, stretching his arms above his head as he took in the room. “Or do you think there's some cameras installed up here to spy on us?”

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

There definitely wasn't any searching hands over each other's body that night. Marinette kept the kiss brief and chaste before retreating, scrunching her facial features together to express her feelings. He understood, laughing quietly which she felt against his clothed chest (too paranoid to sleep without the proper clothing that it was appropriate to be seen in).

There was no climbing the ladder onto the top of the bunk-bed, still; the mattress was upon the floor, duvet and pillows already assembled for her return. It was a tight fit for the two of them since it was technically a single bed, so their limbs were tangled together as they slept. The weather wasn't too hot to warrant kicking the covers off of them, thankfully, and Marinette's only complaint when she woke up in the morning was the fact that one of her legs had fallen onto the cold floor during her slumber.

Adrien's hair was a mess, much worse than any of the other mornings they'd shared together. She reached other with a smile and played with the mused locks, stirring him from his sleep so he opened his bleary eyes, narrowing them in an accusatory manner up at her.

“Hey, you,” she greeted, pushing the hair aside so she could place a kiss on his forehead. “I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready, okay? Feel free to use the bathroom after a few minutes, it'll be clear since my parents are likely downstairs.”

Taking her bag of belongings down with her, Marinette emerged from the bathroom wearing dark-washed jeans and a short-sleeved blouse that wouldn't clash horribly with the apron she was set to wear in the afternoon. They had always had spares in case others were damaged, and Adrien hadn't declined the offer to wear it; rather, he seemed excited from the prospect of it.

He'd posted the previous evening that he'd be there at her pâtisserie for the day, happy to greet fans between customers, as he was determined to be behind the till and working rather than as the attraction that people came for sat upon a stool, and had included times, so there was an hour or so before they were needed downstairs.

The sound of the bathroom door opening revealed him looking fresh-faced, hair no longer the disarray that had greeted her, wearing clothes that complimented his figure well. Adrien set his bag down beside hers in the living room, happily accepting the bowl of food that she'd set aside for him.

“Are you worried that this will go wrong at all?” Marinette questioned, fiddling with her mug of coffee. “We're not going to be overrun with fans, right?”

He pulled a displeased face at that. “It should be fine. There's one entrance at the front, and I've got qualified protection if anything goes astray—that goes for you and your family, too.”

“What's the worst you've had happen at fan meetings before?” the dark-haired female asked, pushing aide her bowl of half-eaten food, too nervous to stomach the contents. “I imagine it's been pretty tiring through the years.”

“I mean, getting stuff flung at you is pretty terrifying, even if it turns out to be some sort of underwear,” he mused, an contemplative expression displayed on his face. “But that's only ever been when I've walked outside somewhere crowded. Nino's had it worse through the years due to his manager convincing him to meet more fans back here, rather than greet them abroad like I do.”

Nodding, Marinette asked, “Is it ever inconvenient that you share a manager?”

The blond shrugged. “D'Argencourt's only contacted when I'm here for a second opinion—he's mostly in charge of arranging Nino's appearances on different televisions shows and such. I get out of them often due to using my father's name to weasel my way out of it.”

The mention of his father had her hands stiffening on reflex. Although she knew it wasn't right to resent another's parent—let alone when it was their sole remaining parental figure—she couldn't help the negative feelings she had towards him. She smothered them, keeping her expression blank as she distracted herself with cleaning up their mess, trying not to let it show that she was conflicted by his mentioning.

“Sure you're ready for this? There's a chart underneath the register to show the prices of everything if you get confused—my parents update it for when I visit due to the new arrivals.” Marinette tied her hair up, needing to do something with her nervous hands. “You can always come back up here if it's too much for you.”

He looked at her with a smile. “I should be saying that to you. It'll be fine, Marinette. I can't burn down the place without access to the kitchens, so don't worry about all the worst possible outcomes.”

“I thought Nino's the bad cook of you two,” she mumbled, walking down the stairs and reaching towards the stored aprons. “Are you warning me what will happen if you finagle yourself a promotion here?”

“Yeah, sure,” Adrien agreed with a laugh, voice much calmer than she felt. “There's only fire and destruction in my future if you allow me inside the kitchen; I'll channel my inner-Nino to make sure it comes true.”

Tossing the apron at him, Marinette huffed. “All right, you dork. It's time to put you to work.”

And work, he did. His bodyguard—who hovered by the door—made sure that it wasn't too crowded inside, while she and Adrien manned the front, her parents restocking their goods when needed and giving themselves a much needed break, unless they were called due to the queues. The fans trickled in slowly, asking for autographs and wanting to ask questions despite Adrien's assistance that this make-shift event wasn't for that, and eventually he took in a deep breath and announced that he'd answer one question per bought item, or offer autographs if they weren't upon their bodies. Marinette was amused throughout, eventually having to take over inputting the details into the register as it befuddled him as time went on.

By the evening there were multiple posts about it on social media, even a video of Adrien looking flustered trying to process an order so he had to look at Marinette for help, and she received multiple messages from friends with complaints that they weren't invited.

Her parents were endlessly pleased with the result; they had to close early due to selling out, even though they'd baked extra that morning in preparation. Adrien sat through their dinner together, gently touching the back of his neck, and his hair at times, in self-conscious gestures that were paired with his lightly flushed cheeks when compliments were given to him.

He obviously had his own doubts about how well they'd get along, as when they retreated to her bedroom once more, he murmured in a quiet voice, “I'm pretty sure your parents would give their consent if I asked to marry you right now, and I don't even understand why.”

“I'm sure they would, too,” she joked, laughing. “They know that you make me happy, and that's all they care about—well, that and you not having a criminal record.”

Raising his eyebrows, he enquired, “Are you trying to say you dated a criminal in the past?”

“I—no.” Marinette tried to muffle her laughter as he rolled onto the bed with her, wrapping arms around her clothes-clad waist. “One of my ex-boyfriends stole a calculator from school, which really doesn't sound like a big deal any more. They were expensive, so it was quite a commotion between parents at the time. He was instantly considered a bad influence on others because of it.”

“No wonder they didn't want you to have your boyfriends over,” he quipped, earning a playful smack that had him laughing in response. “I... I was expecting more formal questions, I guess. Your parents are really lovely, and they clearly love you a lot.”

She preened at the praise. “Yeah, they do,” the dark-haired female agreed happily, resting an arm across his chest as the duvet was tangled between their legs. “I wouldn't change anything about them if I could. They know that I earn money from a blog with Alya and don't even attempt to pry or find out what it's about. I think I'd be mortified if they ever did.”

“They're probably proud that you're able to have an income of your own while studying at all,” Adrien pointed out, tone thoughtful. “I know Alya doesn't, but does Rose have a part-time job?”

The answer was a negative. Despite having a single parent household, her mother had insisted that she focus on her studies rather than trying to juggle her time between working and focusing on classes, instead offering to pay her a fixed amount each month to keep her going. It was enough when they combined their rent for their apartment together, and gave the blonde-haired female enough to splurge with if she saved up for a few months—so they were happy with their situations, though they were still considered pampered by their parents by their support.

They visited the pet-store the following morning together. Marinette was surprised at how large it was, walking along wide-eyed as they viewed the different animals that were on display and for sale as they passed them. She joined Adrien in taking pictures of the ones that were awake, cheeks hurting from smiling for a prolonged time when he pressed their faces together to get a picture of them with rabbits in the background to post online.

When they reached the cat aisle—which made her make strange noises from seeing how sweet the kitten-themed selection was—they squished each of the toys that Adrien pointed out, testing them for herself no matter how silly it seemed. They left with a small bagful of toys and more cat food, and she kissed him good-bye by the curb outside her apartment a few hours later.

Tikki was hiding beneath her mattress when she walked in. Marinette tried to coax her out with new toys, even using a bottle of spray catnip to attempt to entice her, and eventually gave up and changed into comfortable clothing to lounge around for the day. She had an essay due the following week, and it was during that that she heard the tinkling of bells behind her.

When she caught sight of Tikki honey-coloured fur, complete with the flecks of dark spot across it, it was for a moment before she retreated back underneath with a toy that had a bell attached to it.

Marinette threw her head back and laughed. It was progress, she supposed.

-x-

Two things happened at once for her two room-mates. Marinette's classes had finished early for the day, so she was lethargically moving around in the kitchen—where the largest windows were located—baking with her hair piled upon her head. Music was playing in the background since her laptop wasn't charged enough to bring in, and she was humming along when her cell phone chimed.

Wiping her hands, she looked at the new message with raised eyebrows.

' _Alya Césaire:  
_ _I can finally be like those girls from romance films that sigh and blush for the rest of the day. Don't forget to tell me I'm glowing later. Also I'm hungry, you want anything?_ '

It wouldn't be a surprise if that was Alya's way of hinting towards her sex life. Rolling her eyes, the dark-haired female replied with the affirmative, happy that she hadn't been selected to be the one to pick up the food in the first place. Rose was sure to get a message soon to ask if she wanted anything, so there was no need to call her up to make sure. Marinette put the music back on and finished icing her creations, taking a picture of the final outcome, sending it to her parents.

Since Adrien's appearance at their pâtisserie, they'd been featured in magazines—some of which were gossip ones that her mother had spied in the grocery store—and had been asked for an interview about their store in the local paper. They had never been a non-profitable business in the past, yet with the consistent boom in their sales the past year, there was no denying that their shop was blossoming. They had countless requests for personal cakes, catering for parties despite their menu only featuring sweet foods, and because of that they'd placed an advertisement to find a helper for their store.

She tried to lure Tikki out from under the bed with a small saucer of milk. When she went to retrieve it, the emptiness made her perk up, settling down on her knees to peer underneath the mattress at the dark spot that was huddled against the cool wall. The toy that the feline had taken last week was beside her, half-covered by her body.

“The milk was a hit, then?” Marinette mused, staring into the shining blue eyes that were staring at her. “I'd get you more but you'd only drink it behind my back—spoiling you without actually seeing it seems pretty pointless. I haven't even heard you purr yet.”

The silence didn't bother her any more. She was used to prattling on, trying to get a reaction from the anti-social cat.

She continued on, “I asked my class-mates about cat memory spans, and I'm pretty sure I convinced some of them that I'm mad. The internet says you could remember a few things for years—I wonder, do you remember Plagg?”

She supposed not—they weren't raised together after their separation, and they had been kittens the last time. There was no reason to which was why she'd never expressed her want for the two of them to meet. Tikki wasn't fond of venturing outside back when she lived with Mister Fu, and the thought of her being cornered by hostile felines wasn't a nice one. What type of cat would she be around others anyway? She'd shown no indication of liking any of the humans that she'd met thus far, but she hadn't scratched or hissed, nor defecated over the apartment in protest while they were gone.

The sound of the front door slamming shut interrupted her musing. Tikki flinched, retreating further back and abandoned her toy. Marinette stood up quickly, set to reprimand that hasty entrance, only to falter when she saw Rose leaning back against the door, a hand roughly rubbing her face as she sobbed. There was smeared wetness across her cheeks, red-rimmed eyes that stood out, and her short blonde hair was messy, haphazardly pushed away from her face.

“Rose?” Marinette called, hand extended and hovering, unsure whether to place it upon her friend's shoulder in a sign of comfort. As Rose sniffed loudly—the noise wet and warranting a tissue—she continued, “Hey, what's going on? I just finished baking, if you want to stuff your face before telling me.”

The mention of food worked. Rose walked through the hallway, stopping to grab a whole roll of toilet roll from the bathroom, then approached the countertop. She blew her nose loudly before starting to methodically eat, effectively distracting her from the tears and sniffles that had been getting louder. Marinette walked behind her with a wary expression, slowly collecting her cell phone to send a warning message to Alya that something was wrong.

By the time the red-head arrived, Rose had only had one to eat and had created a pile of wet tissues on the countertop. Marinette made them both tea in the hopes of cheering her up, and had sat down on one of the stools to keep her sniffing friend in view.

As the door opened, but did not close loudly as it had earlier, Alya's call was audible. “Hey, losers,” she exclaimed, plastic bags sounding as she entered the kitchen with a cheery smile. It faltered when she caught sight of Rose however, with her dark eyebrows knitting together in confusing. “Hang on— _what_?”

She hadn't seen the message, then.

“Not sure yet,” Marinette quipped, shrugging her shoulders and directing her to put the bags on her countertop. “Trying to drown her sorrows in sweets and tea first. Might have to include a blanket soon.”

“The blanket is what makes everyone crack,” Alya replied, rolling her eyes. “No, seriously. You're not being harassed, are you? I'm more than ready to punch someone, if that's the case.”

Rose wiped at her nose as she turned around to face them—her face was blotched red, an unattractive sight that they hadn't seen for quite some time. “I... I broke up with Alix.”

She blinked. “Wha—” Marinette started, only to be interrupted by Rose shaking her head frantically. “Okay, let's take it slow, then. Was it a mutual decision or did something happen?”

“I—Alix was asking about Juleka.” The blonde's voice was shaking and quiet as she ripped the tissue apart in her hands. “Then, s-she said something that upset me. It kind of escalated from there and I ended up shouting that we're breaking up. It—it was outside and _everything_! I'm so embarrassed!” She'd started shouting towards the end, grimacing from remembering it. “I can't believe that happened—t-that I encouraged it!”

“Well, no one recorded you, right?” Alya asked, sounding more amused than sympathetic. “Then it'll die between the two of you. No one else will have to know unless you tell them.”

Marinette shot her a glare before directing her attention back to the blonde. “The real question is whether you're going to call her and apologise or if your relationship is over for good. You were dating for a while, weren't you?”

“Y-yeah,” Rose stuttered, firmly looking anywhere but at the two of them. “There's not a chance of us dating again—and I don't want to, I think. It was nice while it lasted but that can't be recreated.”

The outlook she had was a lot more mature than Alya or Marinette had had when they'd briefly dated when they were younger, definitely. Although there was crying, it seemed it was more due to the words exchanged rather than the loss of the actual relationship.

They made idle chatter through their dinner, making sure not to mention Alix while Rose's face was still stained red in case the tears resurfaced, and throughout Alya continued to make different facial expressions at the blonde, trying to get her to laugh between mouthfuls. There wasn't much success; Rose was staring at her cutlery and adamantly not at the two of them during, and it was only after she'd finished eating that she cleared her throat to say, “Juleka's moving back here in three months. They're being classed as exchange students, so they'll live in the university dorms.”

Marinette hummed, indicating that she needed to finish her mouthful first. “Still with her girlfriend, right?”

Rose glumly replied, “Yes. She's coming with Lila.”

Alya raised her eyebrows above her spectacles at that, choosing to keep her mouth shut. With a look between the two of them, Marinette stayed quiet, too, deciding it would be best to contemplate when they were alone. It wasn't long before Rose had placed her dish and cutlery beside the sink—the sullen mood excusing her from doing chores that day—and disappeared into her room without a word. The roll of toilet paper had gone with her.

“Do you think...” the dark-haired female trailed off, watching the doorway uncertainly. “How did we not see it before?”

Alya shrugged. “Maybe she's only come to terms with liking Juleka recently? It would explain the outburst before, and why she became so upset with Alix—surely her girlfriend would've noticed that her affection is misplaced.”

“That sucks,” Marinette mumbled. When she saw the dubious gaze towards her, she shook her head and clarified, “For Alix, I mean. They weren't exactly serious but those suspicions must've made their relationship strained at times— _we_ didn't see it because we've always assumed what's between Rose and Juleka to be friendship due to growing up together.”

Nodding, Alya pitched in her concerns. “I just hope next year doesn't equal Rose retreating into herself or going through another stroppy phase—she's been handling everything maturely lately. I'd hate to see that streak broken due to jealousy.”

“She wouldn't act that way around Juleka, though,” she mused, uncertain of how to handle the situation at all. It would have to be a play by ear one; there wasn't exactly a manual for best friends having an unrequited love (who, for once, wasn't an out of reach celebrity). “Should we do something to cheer her up?”

The whites of her teeth showed as she replied, “Well, we can't throw something with Nino's face on it at her any more.”

Marinette scrunched her face up in distaste. “All she'd think about is your mouth all over him—which I do _not_ need to know about. Keep your glowing comments to yourself, please.”

“I'm not asking for the details of your awkward sex life,” Alya pointed out, raising her hands in a sign of mocking surrender.

With narrowed eyes, Marinette retorted, “It's not a-awkward, thank you.” The slip had happened when she remembered when she'd started crying the last time they'd been alone in his apartment, another part of her life that she was going to keep to herself in hopes of making it vanish. “Now are you going to explain why you felt the need to include a cat toy in the latest Lady picture?”

“To encourage the pussy comments, of course.” Alya winked. “We've snagged deals with make-up companies because of her hands—what if we could get free stuff for Tikki by doing this? It's fantastic management skills, I tell you. Just wait and see, Marinette.”

“You're insane,” she replied dryly. “And where did you find the time to visit Nino? I'm the one that finished early, so please explain your absence to me.”

Rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, Alya replied, “He picked me up from campus. One of my classes was cancelled because the professor's sick, so I took my chance and, well, grabbed it.”

“You grabbed something else, you mean,” she muttered in return, shaking her head. “I'm glad you're happy but couldn't you at least had dinner with him or something? I sincerely hope you didn't get dressed and run out of there.”

“Oh,” the red-head said, drawing out the noise, “ _Oh_.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“When you talk to your lover boy of yours later, make sure he appreciates my fine physique. He kind of walked in on us—that's why I left so soon.”

Although she wasn't an exhibitionist, Alya had never been too bothered by her skirt blowing upwards in the wind, nor when her clothes were transparent and left little to the imagination. There was a pink tinge to her tanned cheeks as she tried to talk about it nonchalantly, but it was clear that she was embarrassed, otherwise she would've stuck around to tease them both about it.

Deciding not to point out that she knew that she was being brave, Marinette instead asked, “And how, exactly, does one accidentally walk in on you in the bedroom? There's a door for a reason, and I doubt Adrien was walking in there to have a sneaky nap.”

“Easy.” Alya flashed her a toothy smile. “It was in the living room since I'm a classy girl.”

With an amused expression, she clapped her hands together and nodded. “You're truly inspirational, my dear friend.”

Alya stood up and bowed, complete with the hand across her stomach, which made them both laugh heartily. “How many people do you think we can fit in here?” she asked once she'd started to collect their plates.

Marinette bundled the rubbish together. “A fair few. The bathroom will be the main problem with multiple here. What are you thinking of?”

“Nothing. Ignore me.”

-x-

Since Rose was over her obsession with Nino, meaning she was tight-lipped about her previous feelings, that meant she wasn't bothered about mentioning the silly contract she'd insisted on in the past. Thus, Alya decided the best way to cheer their blonde-haired room-mate up was by making the most of their newly found freedom in the form of fitting as many as they could into their apartment. They purchased a lock for the bathroom to avoid awkward moments, warned their neighbours about the upcoming noise, and made sure to tape signs on their bedroom doors that people weren't allowed inside.

Marinette tucked the litter tray and bowls into her bedroom after confirming Tikki was in there with the intention of making sure she was there for the foreseeable future. She'd protested to the party at first due to the timid cat, but her concerns had been unheard. Rose was oblivious, somehow, and had been sent out to collect their groceries from the store while Alya started to arrange glasses and bottles on the countertops, making sure music was playing at an agreeable volume for the time being.

Clad in a red dress that brought out her eyes, Marinette was on her knees, chattering away in an attempt to comfort Tikki until there was a knock on her door. She excused herself—still not concerned that she was holding full one-sided conversations with the feline—and wedged the door open to allow the person inside.

Adrien grinned, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. “So this is where you're hiding out. I didn't realise we came too early, so I ditched Nino in the kitchen to flirt.”

“...Didn't you bring Chloé with you?” she questioned, amused.

His smile grew. “Oh, yes. He's probably flirting more in spite of that.”

Last year she never would've thought she'd willingly invite Chloé to her apartment, especially not when it still had creaking pipes when someone used the tap, nor the tiny amount of space available. “How did you manage to convince her to come, anyway?” Marinette asked, sitting down on the bed and patting beside her to coax him to join her. “You must be a miracle worker.”

“Not really.” His laugh was almost musical. “I mentioned that we're going to a party and she insisted on joining—didn't ask where, so it's her own fault. You're the one that said it was okay, so if anything happens, I'm putting the blame on you.”

“Adrien,” she said, voice breathy and mixed with laughter. “Be quiet, will you?”

He blinked. “I'm going to get a complex soon from the amount of times you tell me to shush.”

Bumping her shoulder gently against his, she pointed out, “I can't kiss you if you keep running your mouth with nonsense—”

To her surprise, he was the one that quieted her. He pressed their mouths together, the curve of his nose warm against her skin, and she could feel the smug smile that he surely had. Marinette allowed her eyes to close, moving her lips gently in return as she grasped a hold of his shirt, crunching the material up in her fingers as her pulse stuttered in return. She shifted her body, tilting her head back to find a comfortable position, creating friction between her legs in the process of her movements. It was a subtle reminder of what her body was demanding at that moment, and the bubbling pleasure within her abdomen spiralled chaotically as he rested his hand on her bare thigh, fingertips exploring the skin revealed and travelling higher as their breaths grew ragged and louder.

She languidly licked his lower lip—that she was sure was swollen lightly at that point, most likely a shade of red that complimented him well—and pursued further as his hand traced the material of her underwear on her hip before falling, his hand covering as much flesh of her backside as he could. As he squeezed in appreciation, she hummed right back, taking a deep breath as their lips broke apart. She pressed a chaste kiss to his, slight laughter escaping as he squeezed once more, and it was with restraint that she sat upright.

“There's no lock on the door,” Marinette murmured, eyes flickering across the room. “And, well, there's someone under the bed, too.”

With a confused expression, the blond asked, “You mean Tikki, right? Not some strange friend of yours?”

The wording had been confusing, then. Shaking her head while laughing, she assured him that his group was the first to arrive, and that Rose was still out with no idea of what they were planning. It was with that said that he removed his hand, smoothing the material of her dress down with the intention of making it look untouched, but all it did was cause her pulse to become more noticeable as his fingertips brushed against her thighs in the process.

She stood up abruptly, moving awkwardly as she announced, “I-I'll meet you outside when you've—when you can.” The stumbled words, affirmation of his equally flustered state from glancing down, didn't help with making the blush disappear from her cheeks. “Make sure Tikki stays inside.”

“Will do,” Adrien replied with a lazy smile, seemingly amused by her.

When she entered the kitchen, which had the music pouring out into the hallway, she spied the couple sat together on the couch, seemingly unaware of the other occupants, while Chloé was sat on a stool with her cell phone out and a disgruntled expression on her face.

“Hi, Chloé,” she greeted in a friendly manner, flashing her a smile. “Want anything to drink while we wait?”

She shook her head, golden-coloured ringlets bouncing as she did so. “How many people do you think you'll fit in here? This is going to be a dreadfully small party.”

“Eh,” Marinette replied non-committally, waving a hand in dismissal. “This is just to cheer Rose up, so I don't really care how many actually show up. If it's just the six of us, I'd still be happy.”

“Are you including me in that number?” Chloé raised her eyebrows, a small smile on her stained lips. “That's a surprise. I can't imagine that your friends will share the kind view.”

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she answered bluntly, “Well, I have as much say as the rest of them. You're not the raging bitch I assumed you to be in the beginning.”

Chloé's grin showed her white teeth. “Why, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Pleased that her comment hadn't offended her, she continued, “Maybe by the end of tonight, I'll be singing your praises.”

Aurore came with oodles of alcoholic drinks in her bag, happily setting them out on the countertop for others to help themselves to them. Mylène arrived with her boyfriend—who's wide shoulders barely fit through the front door—and offered everyone shy smiles before they hovered by the window, talking to each other. A few of Alya's class-mates turned up with plastic cups, which were greatly appreciated, and it was in the form of Nathaniel shuffling through the kitchen door with Adrien laughing by his side that had most of the room staring at them in confusion. When the red-head murmured something quietly, that proved to be more than most of them had heard in the long run.

There were awkward moments at first, where some were awkward and unsure on how to react to Nino and Adrien, especially when the two would just smile and assure them it was fine. Then came the phase of photographs together, to show their friends that hadn't attended to show off that they missed out on such a rare thing, and then the music was turned up when Rose walked through the front door.

Naturally, she was bewildered when she walked into the kitchen, plastic bags hanging from her hands as she looked around the room. Smiling faces greeted her, and before long she had a plastic cup in her hands and a happy expression as the alcohol started flowing—or the carbonated alternative, that Marinette had opted for instead—as everyone relaxed around each other. A handful more trickled in before it started to get cramped, though it didn't persuade others to leave.

Rose was one of the first to become intoxicated. As per usual, she was loud, energetic with her hand movements to emphasise her words, and was more than ready to tell anyone who asked about Alix about the cruel acts she'd do to them if they mentioned her ex-girlfriend one more time. It was amusing, to say the least, and it didn't take long for the word to spread around that she was off-limits for conversational purposes.

To their surprise, Rose finished her drink before approaching Nino on the other side of the room. She looked at him with a blank expression, arms crossed beneath her breasts that were covered by her baggy shirt, then turned to look at the bewildered Alya. Rose's blue eyes flickered between the two of them, frown becoming more pronounced on her face, until she uttered, “You two are so cute together that it's infuriating. I actually want to punch you both when you look at each other.”

“...Thanks?” Nino replied, eyebrows knitted together behind the frame of his spectacles.

“Okay,” Alya interrupted, putting her hands onto the blonde's shoulders and steering her away. “We're going to have a nice chat in private and try to establish how much she's had to drink.”

The two disappeared out into the hallway and into one of their bedrooms, leaving Nino to mingle with those that looked only mildly starstruck to be speaking to him in person. Nathaniel kept to himself unless Adrien struck up conversation, and it was because of that when Marinette came back inside after checking on Tikki (who huddled on her toy once more under the bed), it was to see an unlikely trio talking on the seats by the island.

When she approached, she could make out, “C'mon, Cherry Boy. You can't be serious.”

There was only two people that called him that, and it was rare for Aurore to utter it. Chloé was staring at the red-haired male with a mischievous expression, while Adrien sighed and looked as though he wanted to give up. Marinette announced her presence by resting her weight and chin upon her boyfriend's shoulder, shooting Nathaniel a reassuring smile when he looked up and met her eyes, his body language clearly uncomfortable.

“What's going on over here, then?” Marinette asked, tilting her head quizzically and causing some of her hair to cover Adrien's face. She grinned as he spluttered, smoothing down the dark strands but not trying to move her off of him. “This seems like the most exciting trio over here, so I'm very curious.”

Rolling her eyes, Chloé answered, “Adrien's trying to convince me he met him without your help. You can't blame me for not believing that for a moment.”

“Well, that's not very specific—maybe Nathaniel's his biggest fan and sends in photographs of himself to get signed. It could be just about anything, really.” Throughout she tried to keep a straight face, only falling into giggles towards the end when she saw Nathaniel's grimace. “Okay, fine. I can vouch for him, too. I didn't even know they knew each other until a few weeks ago.”

“Because I'm ready and willing to believe you,” the blonde-haired female replied dryly. “Adrien said it was something to do with work, but won't say what.”

“It's not really his place to, is it?” Marinette responded, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “If Nathaniel wants to reveal his connection, then it's his choice. It's not like you're the best of friends and share everything with each other—heck, I don't think you've ever had a conversation.”

Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably from the sudden contemplative look that was sent his way.

“Sure, we have,” Chloé started, looking at him as she said, “they're one-sided since we're not close enough to develop telepathy just yet.”

She snorted. “Now you're making jokes that aren't to his expense? Maybe next you'll drop the nickname.”

“That's almost loving,” Adrien interjected, sounding thoroughly amused. “You should spend some time with him rather than calling Nino at obscure hours to make sure he's alone. You're approaching stalker territory.”

Waving a hand in a dismissive movement, Chloé made a humming noise in disagreement. “I can't help it that Nino's amusing to mess with, especially when he's flustered and annoyed by the awful ringtone he picked out for me.”

“You need a better way to spend your time.”

“Eh.” She shrugged. “It's that or go out and get drunk, which is hardly a good hobby to have. I'll stick to annoying him, thank you.”

A laugh escaped from each of them, and that was when Nathaniel stood up, with redness to the tops of his ears, and ran a hand through his hair as he said, “I—I'm going home. Thank you, Marinette.”

With a smile, she waved back as he left and then stole his empty seat so she didn't have to rest on Adrien any more. He and Chloé were pulling amusing faces at each other while she was distracted, and the sight of seeing the golden-haired female with her tongue stuck out and facial features scrunched together caused her to burst into sudden laughter that was high-pitched and breathy.

“You two are _children_ ,” she accused, not surprised to see the two of them grin at her.

“Oh, please,” Chloé replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she stood up. “You'll resort to stooping to his level of maturity when you realise if you don't, you'll go insane.” And with that said, she attracted the attention of someone else, efficiently worming her way in their conversation while walking away.

Looking at Adrien from the corner of her eyes, Marinette mumbled, “That's probably good advice.”

He didn't deny it.

-x-

Rose nursed her hangover the next day while shut in her bedroom, which left the clean up to the remaining two. Alya was fine, surprisingly, and happily chatting about idle topics that made Marinette snort often, trying not to laugh too loudly to cause the blonde to moan loudly down the hallway. It had been an interesting evening, and when they attended their classes the next week, they received some complaints from class-mates not being invited to their cheer up party, especially since Chloé had posted multiple pictures online during which had garnered attention.

It was after Marinette's afternoon off that Alya came home, announcing her presence with a loud greeting and a cackle afterwards as Rose told her to quiet down.

“Oh, Mari,” Alya sang, wiggling her cell phone purposely in her hand. “Have I got news for—”

She was interrupted by the blonde-haired female interjecting with, “It's not good news, so take that goofy smile off your face.”

“Ouch, Rose. I'm self-conscious about my smile now.” She sniffed dramatically before shifting her attention once more, turning her cell phone around to illuminate the screen and select the what she wanted to show. “If we could please push aside the mean remarks, I'd like to reveal my big surprise.”

Marinette blinked. “Okay.”

“No, that makes it sound like you're the one that arranged this,” Rose pointed out, tucking her short blonde hair behind her ear. “She's going to reject it like any other, so what's the point?”

“Oh, little one,” Alya proclaimed loudly, looking at her with a pitying expression that had the blonde scrunching her facial features up in distaste. “When did I ever say that it's like the others? Surely, it's about time that the light shines upon Marinette.”

Uncertain of her connection to the topic, she opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Rose loudly shrieking, “They want an interview with _Marinette_? How does that even make sense?”

Alya's smile could only be described as smug. “Not _just_ Marinette, girl. I got contacted by a television company to have a double interview with her.”

“...Then why didn't I get this message, too?” Marinette asked with a dubious expression.

With an exasperated sigh, the red-head replied, “Because you have an obscure e-mail now which means you don't check your old one that's similar to your name. It's no wonder they contacted me, since they don't know our numbers. Imagine how awkward it would've been if they called our parents instead.”

“Oh, right,” she readily agreed, not questioning the explanation. “So you decided to laugh and come tell me before you reject them, right? There's no way I'm being interviewed, let alone for television—I'd be a _mess_.”

“Yeah, of course.” Alya waved a hand dismissively. “They're really persistent, though. It's quite annoying. And did you know that Nino's apparently cheating on me already?”

Surprised, Marinette blurted, “I'm sorry, what?”

“Absolutely shocking, isn't it?” Her tone was nonchalant, though the twitch of her lips indicated that she was trying not to laugh. “It seems our relationship was just to sway the media away from an actress from his last film—fancy that, eh?”

When she was sure that it was a joke, the dark-haired female shook her hair, causing the strands of hair to fall in front of her shoulders. “You're having too much fun with this. It's common advice to ignore the articles, but you'd much prefer to laugh at all of them, right?”

“Maybe I'll ask Rose to help make me a scrapbook with them in chronological order,” she mused, wrapping a tanned arm fondly around the girl in question. “I need to keep up to date with our affairs so I can loudly bring them up the next time he beats me at something.”

Rolling her blue eyes, Rose shimmied out of the embrace. “How about you go reject that offer and try and make it clear that you're _not_ interested? Try not to laugh, too. That might hurt their feelings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alya replied dismissively, indicating that they were jumping topics once more. “Speaking of which, I got an e-mail accusing us of slacking—the _Ladyblog_ , I mean. I sent them an equally disgruntled message during my break between classes; not sure if they've replied yet.”

The June package hadn't arrived. It hadn't crossed her mind, actually; with all the work she'd been putting into her university projects, occasionally seeing Adrien when they were both free, it was a surprise at all that they hadn't reached the small goal that the company had set for them to meet. Whether they were going to stop sponsoring the blog or not was unknown, and it was the following day that they found out that the package had been damaged in the sending process, and had therefore not been sent. The company apologised for the accusation, then delivered a new boxful of products—with some extras added in—that were set to be featured in their pictures.

The blog hadn't died down, not even when Alya posted one a week, twice if lucky. There were messages for items to be sold in the store once more, which had to be answered with the rejection due to their busy schedule for the meantime, and a constant influx of views and comments that were overwhelming to process. As long as there wasn't any personal information—or rude or racist sayings—left upon the posts, Alya let them be.

The strangest thing was artists drawing Lady; or, what they assumed her to look like. A few left the faces blank or out of frame, while others portrayed her with a spectrum of different eye colours and facial features, each looking different and as far from the truth as possible. The dark hair was there, certainly, as it had been shown in the past, much like her lips and rarely her nose.

When teaser images were posted for _Le Dessinateur_ (the name was a surprise, she was accustomed to referring to it as the tongue-tied prince just to grab onto a title), it was revealed that Lady was to be featured in it—Nathaniel posted a small amount of information on the website dedicated for the adaption, stating a few prominent names that were to be featured, namely; Silencieux, Adrien, and Lady from the _Ladyblog_. Since he hadn't clearly stated that she wouldn't be acting, and definitely not using her voice for one of the characters, the reactions that the post garnered meant that the views on their blog spiked once more.

Adrien refused to reveal information or spoilers further than what Nathaniel had been willing to—to which he'd explained that it was already planned out, even though she had yet to even film her part yet—and resorted to answering those questions on social media with ambiguous answers and emotions.

When she was alone with Alya, the red-head pondered, “Do you think Nathaniel's vain?”

Blinking, Marinette looked at her with a curious expression. “What makes you say that? He doesn't look at himself in every window that he passes.”

“Sure, but there's other kinds of vain—he's made a character that resembles him, and he's even voicing him for everyone to hear. Don't you think that's a bit... odd?”

She shrugged. “He worked hard on that. If Nathaniel thinks he'd be best at voicing his creation, then who are we to judge that? That's not information everyone will have, so the only accusations would be from those that he wants to know,” Marinette pointed out, not surprised by his choice in the end. Going by the pseudonym Silencieux had provided him with a successful career for the past few years, and his decisions heavily decided to outcome for the adaption, with the agreement with the rest of the staff.

“I still think it's unbelievable,” Alya quipped, catching her attention once more. “That Nathaniel's, well, _him_. There's always been some debate online about who the voice actor is, and most guess that he's in his late twenties, not our age.”

Laughing, she asked, “Are you trying to say his voice doesn't sound as young and youthful as he is?”

“Yeah, I guess. He can make his voice really deep and gravelly when playing darker characters, and seeing him wide-eyed in our kitchen while cornered by Chloé completely ruins the illusion.” Shaking her head, the red-head released a laugh from her words. “It's impressive, I'll give him that. No wonder he's successful at it.”

With a smirk, Marinette enquired, “Speaking of Chloé—is she still calling Nino when you two are together?”

“He threatened her with a childhood photograph that he refuses to show me,” she grouched, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “I wanted to see it for blackmail purposes, but apparently it's rude to do it twice—once is completely fine.”

Surprised, she stumbled over her laughter, the sound becoming breathy as she caught Alya's dramatic pout as she pushed her spectacles further up her nose. “Maybe you'll learn some manners finally.”

“Okay, _mother_.”

With the news of Adrien's upcoming feature in the television adaption of _Le Dessinateur_ , rumours circulated that Nino was going to be a guest star in it, too. They were shut down when Nino posted that he'd auditioned for his cousin's role and had been denied, which caused some questions about Adrien's acting capabilities for the future. The critiques and remarks were promptly ignored and answered with easy-going questions when they were asked within interviews, and it was with the new month that Alya came home with a smug-looking smile on her lips.

“Do I even want to know what it is this time?” Marinette asked with a sigh. “Nothing good ever comes out of that expression of yours.”

Her friend just grinned, placing her bag on the floor carelessly. “Time to doll yourself up. We're going out for dinner.”

She blinked. “But I—”

“ _You_ ,” Alya said, putting emphasis with her words and moving her hand in time with the syllables, “are allowed to take a break from working for the night. It's Friday and you haven't gone outside for anything other than classes.”

Not able to find fault in her words, Marinette kept her lips pressed into a thin line. It was the last month of university for them, each finishing their selected classes on different dates with the promise to wait for each other before travelling home for the summer, which equalled examinations to attend, and essays and projects to be handed in after waiting in a queue for an extended amount of time. She was trying to keep her calm while searching through her work, making sure they were ordered correctly with the right information on them, while she knew that her room-mates were just as frazzled and worrying about the upcoming weeks.

If Alya, who could barely sleep before important examinations so she walked around with bags underneath her eyes, was trying to convince her to take some time off, she supposed that there was some reason to it. Staring at the same material and hoping for a breakthrough with her work wasn't going to happen without a brief change of scenery, and the prattling she did to Tikki to pass the time was starting to sound demented.

“Fine,” she finally agreed, running a hand through her untidy hair. “Are we waiting for Rose?”

Shaking her red curls, Alya explained that she'd already cleared it with the blonde-haired female, who had readily shooed them with the intention of using the free space of the kitchen to groan and focus on her work for some time (and also attempt to lure Tikki out with a trail of cat treats that had so far been ignored).

Clad in a dress fit for the summer weather and a jacket tied around her waist, Marinette raised her eyebrows when they started walking a familiar route, the chatter of their conversation not revolving around their destination. Alya had swapped her spectacles for contact lenses, changed into a pair of shorts that were borderline showing her buttocks, and had a skip in her step as they walked the streets.

“Adrien hasn't mentioned seeing you and Nino doing... well, each other, by the way,” the dark-haired female quipped, lips curling into a smirk as her friend lost her footing, recovering at the last moment with a frazzled expression. “He probably thinks he's doing you a favour by keeping it quiet, not realising that you've actually told me.”

Brushing her clothes as something to do, Alya replied, “It is a hell of a conversation opener. Hey, my name's Alya. Adrien Agreste walked in on me having sex once. He screamed.”

“Did he really?”

Alya laughed. “No, but let's just pretend he did.”

The hotel came into view, and it was then that the red-head revealed that they were visiting Nino's for dinner (with no webcast this time). She had no complaints about that when Alya assured her that he wasn't set to be the one cooking, that instead she'd volunteered to help Adrien in the kitchen to see his culinary abilities for herself.

Plagg was in the apartment, happily lounging stretched across Nino's lap on the couch. The tanned male was there with curly hair, crooked spectacles, and a lazy smile on his lips as he slowly stroked the feline with his fingertips. He looked up and flashed them a grin, accepting the kiss on his cheek from Alya before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Marinette hovered at first, unsure on what to do before she sat down beside him. They hadn't been left alone often, not since the identity debacle had become clear to her, and the thought that she'd tried to think of him romantically—let alone sexually—had caused awkward shivers to run through her. It had been hard to connect Chat to Nino's face, and knowing what she did at the moment, she was utterly glad that she'd never touched herself while picturing him.

When he looked up and asked how she was, Marinette choked on her breath. She wheezed and coughed for a few moments, wetness growing in her eyes and face growing red from a mixture of the situation and embarrassment, before she recovered and wiped at the sudden dampness. Plagg had ran away from the noise, hiding in the shadows somewhere out of view, while Nino had scooted closer and had a hand raised towards her, unsure whether to attempt to pat her back or give her a hand on the shoulder in comfort.

The awkward expression on his face gave her comfort enough.

“Sorry,” Marinette apologised, voice breathier than usual. “I don't know what happened there.”

Dropping his hand, the dark-haired male replied, “It's okay. I only got a few scratch marks from it, nothing serious.” The words had been teasing, not accusatory. “So have you been banned from the kitchen, too?”

“Oh, you're banned?” Marinette asked, trying to sound surprised rather than bursting into laughter as he crossed his arms on his chest. “I—no. Alya's the one that loves to cook out of all of us. I tend to make desserts only.”

“I'd kill for something sweet, but I have to watch my diet for a while,” Nino replied, eyes looking in the direction of the kitchen. “While you and Alya enjoy nice food, Adrien and I will be suffering from an enforced healthy diet with the promise of a unwanted gym session tomorrow.”

Surprised by the information, Marinette decided to push her luck and ask, “Are you featuring in something soon?” She'd seen him ordering unhealthy food in the past, which had been in the downtime of filming other than his appearance on a few television shows and interviews. “It has been a while.”

“Yeah, though I'm not going to tell you.” He grinned mischievously. “Alya's begged to see the script countless times but I'm not going to cave in. As much as I trust her, I don't want it to be leaked.”

Nodding her head in agreement, she replied, “Good choice.” Because it was—the red-head was loose-lipped when she was intoxicated, and there was no telling what she would spout to others when that occurred.

The fact that he was willing to reveal that tiny piece of information at all was enough to show that he trusted them and wanted to share a part of his life, which made her shift awkwardly once more. They had been friends once, hadn't they? She hoped they wouldn't have only seen each other because of Alya, and that there was at least a small remainder of their old friendship there still. He wasn't an untouchable person that seeing him in the news made him out to be; before her was Nino, with scruffy hair and spectacles that had dirt on the lenses, and cat fur covering his white t-shirt.

“I have a question.”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“Exactly what would the fabled _Cat-Man_ wear as his superhero outfit?” Marinette asked, voice shaking from trying not to laugh aloud as his expression visibly reacted to her words. “I've tried to picture it in my mind, but it's just... I can't.”

As he laughed, that set the tone for the evening. There was a few awkward moments, but for the most part it was an enjoyable dinner. Adrien didn't look nearly as saddened by his dinner as his cousin—which Alya chose to point out with a laugh—and there was kind-hearted banter throughout that her cheeks hurting from extended use by the end. Adrien happily extended the offer to his apartment, though they did have the company of a squirming Plagg as they travelled up there.

The feline disappeared to the opposite side of the room as they entered, and as the door closed behind them, Marinette smiled as his lips pressed enthusiastically over hers, warm hands—that she could feel through the material of her dress—holding her against him in an intimate way that had her heart racing.

When they made it to the bedroom, it was with practised movements that they were pressed against each other on the mattress. Her breaths were coming fast and in a pant as he peppered kisses across the exposed skin of her neck, and his hips shifted against her in a way that had her arching her back, attempting to respond in a way that would enhance the pleasant feelings. The firm feeling of his clothed arousal pressing against her, rubbing into the thin material sheltering her protrusion, had distorted moans coming from her lips when he moved in a certain way.

They'd seen each other as much as they could with their busy schedules, which resulted in stolen kisses and flirtatious body movements, and she was baffled that through the months they'd been dating that she hadn't managed to take her brassiere off, other than to sleep. So it was with a wave of confidence that she reached to grab his wrist, of the arm that wasn't holding him up on his position above her on the mattress, and guided it towards her covered breast.

He cupped her chest with soft movements, kneading the mound of flesh as well as he could with the clothing in the way. Biting at her lower lip, Marinette allowed her hands to wander, undoing the belt of his trousers and placing it onto the floor as quietly as possible before he realised what she was doing.

Removing his hand from her breast so he could lean back, allowing the view of her flushed face, Adrien opened his mouth to ask what she presumed to be about her intentions, so she answered him before he could talk by shifting her hips, purposely applying friction to his clothed arousal with a smile on her lips.

Hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, she murmured teasingly, “These need to come off for you to sleep anyway, you don't have to give a strip tease this time.”

She could feel him laugh against her. “I wouldn't classify it as teasing if it's all yours.” Then as he realised her words, the blond male asked, “Does this mean you're spending the night here?”

“Unless that's a problem,” Marinette replied, tracing patterns into the exposed skin of his abdomen. “I could always leave now...”

“No way,” he replied, placing a chaste kiss to her lips before he pulled away to stand up, undoing the button to his trousers before stepping out of them, allowing her a clearer view of his underwear-clad erection. “You're staying here as long as possible.”

She wondered whether she was supposed to clap. “I'm glad we're on the same page.”

And with that said, she sat up, shuffled so she was no longer sitting upon the material of her dress, then reached behind her neck to undo the button. After a deep breath, Marinette pulled the dress over her head, probably causing frazzled strands of her hair to stand up from the contact, and carefully placed it on the floor, trying to avoid unnecessary creases in the morning.

His eyes were on her. Marinette gulped, aware of the colour of her cheeks, as he took in her appearance before he cleared his throat. “Well,” Adrien started, looking away from her eyes for a moment to flicker across her body, “that's one way to be forward about it.”

A laugh burst from her lips.

“It's only fair if I join, too,” he mused, then unceremoniously tugged his shirt over his head, discarding it onto the floor without the care that she'd shown her clothing.

The grin on his lips showed the indents on his cheeks as he settled beside her, a warm hand placed on her hip in what would've been an innocent way if it wasn't for the lack of material. The ruffled hair paired with the happy expression had a coil of warmth spiralling in her abdomen, and as his lips captured hers once more with soft and gentle movements, that was when Marinette allowed her hand to wander once more, fingertips trailing over the material of the waistband of his underwear before diving lower.

He didn't pressure her exploration. She felt the outline of his arousal with curious fingers, blinded by her closed eyes, and followed along his length with slight pressure as she caressed the material. His breaths were coming faster, and she was sure that the pace of his nervous heart would match her if she could tell, and there was an audible intake of breath as she rolled the palm of her hand purposely. A victorious grin erupted on her face as their kiss ended, his hot breath splashing against the exposed flesh of her neck as one of his hands traced along the skin of her back.

There was no denying that it would've been easier without the underwear in the way, but she wasn't going to voice that opinion just yet. Marinette continued to applied pressure and hesitant movements to his arousal, curious blue eyes gazing down as she worked. It was when his fingertips trailed around the clasp of her brassiere that she understood his intentions, and with a shy mumble that it was fine, that was when he pulled her hand away so he could pry the article of clothing off of her.

Rather than staring and causing her to feel self-conscious, she accepted the embrace that was offered; her breasts pressed against the cool skin of his chest, head resting on his shoulder as she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

The last thing she expected was for him to say, “We should sleep.”

Marinette pulled back with a confused expression, blurting, “What—”

“We're perfectly dressed for sleeping in the summer, I can assure you,” Adrien assured her with a smile that reached his viridian eyes. “I'm not going to push you for anything more than you're ready for—so, let's sleep.”

It was understandable that she was nervous; she seemed to be a lot when they were intimate with each other, with her heart pumping loudly and quiet insecurities running through her head, yet she didn't think that it had been obvious. Adrien had never pressed her for anything that she wasn't ready for, not evening pursuing her boost of confidence that evening.

So it was with an audible breath as she laid on her back that she announced, “I hope you're not expecting a future strip tease in exchange for this.”

“Of course not,” he replied, amusement clear in his tone as he reached to turn off the lights, “that's my job.”

She laughed.

_ PREVIEW: When she looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, she blurted, “It's warm.” _

 


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I said there'd be a lot of plot in this one... but then the smut got out of control, my bad. It's not announced when Marinette's birthday is, so I'm just going to say that it's in the next chapter.
> 
> \- ̗̀art ̖́- [aoirin](http://aoirin.tumblr.com/post/152979305651), [salty](http://salty-french-fry.tumblr.com/post/163800700037).

_Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Chat Noir © Thomas Astruc _

Somewhere along the line, Chloé decided that bothering Nino wasn't her favourite way to pass the time. It came out of nowhere, really—Marinette had blinked in surprise as her cell phone constantly vibrated one day, an unknown number appearing on the screen and making her wary.

By the time she had three missed calls, a message came through.

' _Unknown:  
Answer your phone. Don't you have any manners, Marinette? You were born in a bakery, not a barn._ '

“Well, no,” she answered aloud, eyebrows knitted together as she tried to figure out the identity of the new number. She hadn't exchanged with them, clearly, as there wasn't the little inclusion of their name or the memory in her mind. “I was born in a hospital.”

The muttered comments had been too loud. “Are you talking to yourself?” Rose questioned, not averting her gaze from Marinette's desk (her own was covered in papers, so the dark-haired female had donated her space for the night to soothe her frazzled friend's worries). “You have a cat now, you should talk to her instead.”

A cat that preferred to be alone or in the company of the toy she'd grown fond of. Sometimes they'd find it in the middle of their kitchen, no Tikki in sight, and it would cause them to laugh. Marinette had taken to leaving her bedroom door open in the evenings so the feline could move freely through the apartment, which meant sometimes the honey-coloured cat managed to make her way into Alya's room more often than Rose's.

“She'd just glower at me from the darkness,” she replied, rolling onto her back on the mattress, cell phone held above her carefully. “Hey, do you recognise this number?”

Rose snorted after it was read out. “I'm not a walking contact book, Marinette,” she chastised with a laugh. “My phone's in my room so it can't distract me. You know my code, go check it for yourself.”

It wasn't on there. Rose's new background for her cell phone was a picture of her and Juleka when they were younger (which made her wince for more than one reason).

The taller female was set to arrive in two weeks with her girlfriend. They were to be assigned a room to share on the university campus, a short walk away that anyone could make daily. They planned to stay with Juleka's parents until before the new term started—even closer proximity—which meant they were sure to spend a lot of time together, with Juleka perhaps introducing her girlfriend to her old friends on a regular basis. They were the only two coming from Italy, after all.

The cell phone sounded later that evening when she was alone. Marinette pressed her tired face further into the pillow, placing the device to her ear as she grumbled, “Yes?”

“What a way to greet your superior,” came through without hesitation. Although there wasn't harshness to the words—they seemed rather tamed to some of the things she'd heard her say, actually—it still made Marinette jerk to sit up in surprise. “You've been rudely ignoring me, Marinette.”

Was it her turn to suffer from the constant calls? Adrien had mentioned that he'd received a few after Nino had bribed her with a bad childhood photograph, so that meant he had done something, too, to inflict the pleasure upon her.

A laugh escaped her. “I had no idea who you were. Add your name onto the end next time or something.”

“You could've answered,” Chloé replied flippantly.

“I don't have the habit of answering unknown numbers, sorry.” Not after her other information had been leaked; it was a suspicious move that she wasn't going to suddenly stop unless she was expecting a call. “What can I do for you at...” Marinette pulled the cell phone away to check the time, then groaned. “It's eleven o'clock in the evening.”

Chloé wasn't phased by the grumbled voice at all. “Add my number then we'll be fine. It's _Friday_ , Marinette. You're coming out with me.”

“...Pardon?” she blurted, high-pitched than usual.

They weren't friends, they'd established that. They were unwanted acquaintances at best, yet there was no indication of that as the blonde-haired female continued on to announce, “I have an extra invitation to a nightclub. Everyone's busy, therefore you're coming with me.”

“It doesn't sound like there's a choice in there,” she muttered.

“Great. I'm glad we established that.” Chloé laughed, and it sounded somewhat genuine. “I'll be outside your shoddy apartment in ten minutes. Wear something tight.”

She tried to say that she hadn't agreed at all, only to have the call disconnected. Marinette stared at her cell phone for a good minute, eyes widened in surprise and confusion as she tried to process the sudden development. There was two weeks left for her course—Alya and Rose finished before her—yet it seemed that she was being pulled away from working from the evening (or, rather; sleeping).

Adrien didn't prove to be much help. His answer to her frazzled message consisted of laughing faces and no helpful advice.

Dressing as instructed—resigning herself to wear a appropriate dress that showed half of her thigh and her collarbones, rather than her breasts—Marinette opted out of a jacket due to the summer weather. With light make-up, heels that wouldn't hurt her feet from wearing them for an extended time, and a small bag clutched in her hand, she wandered outside after realising her room-mates were asleep.

If things went to plan then they wouldn't realise she'd gone at all, and therefore there wouldn't be the interrogation in the morning for their allotted break time (they'd skipped too many meals in favour of working, therefore they'd instilled at least one meal together).

It wasn't a horrible night. Chloé had thrust lipstick into her hand when they were sat in her car, insisting that it would suit her dress better than the neutral shade she had already, then they'd drove for twenty minutes with the only noise between them being from the radio.

It was a nightclub's opening night. Chloé had smiled widely and been allowed inside instantly, ushering Marinette with her. Compliments were made to the staff—which amazed her at first, before she realised that the blonde-haired female, who had her hair tucked away in a high ponytail, had been involved in the business—with laughter and comments that were only just heard above the pounding music. Marinette was included in most, bewildered the whole time, and once they were shown to a room that was located upstairs, away from the dancing and drinking crowd from down below, that was when they were able to talk.

“Why am I here?” Marinette asked immediately, cheeks colouring from her bluntness.

Placing one thigh upon another, Chloé busied herself with adjusting her dress. “I promised to bring a friend to the opening. A lot of people bailed on me, so here you are. Act like we're close for the evening and we're all good.”

They kind of did. Free drinks were served for them—because of Chloé, who grinned widely whenever attention was sent her way—and after two glasses filled with brightly-coloured liquid, that had a pleasant burn when sipped, Marinette was ushered along to dance and act as a buffer to keep away unwanted wandering hands.

It was a surreal experience, she decided. Chloé's way of asking her to dance was to proclaim Marinette would be awful and she stood no chance keeping up with her. The grin on her lips softened the sharp words, however, then she didn't have much time to protest before a hand was curled on her wrist tugging her along to follow the blonde's every whim.

They'd even taken pictures together. When Marinette had been dropped off home (after Chloé had requested someone to drive her car for her), slightly disorientated but not the worst kind of intoxicated, it was by the shriek of Alya in the morning that she woke up. Jerking awake in surprise, Marinette almost rolled off the mattress in shock, then she quickly realised she was still clad in the tight clothing—definitely not the summertime pyjamas she preferred—with her shoes and bag clumsily thrown onto the floor.

Alya was standing in front of her, arms crossed below her breasts and raised eyebrows.

“Save the judgement for later,” she croaked.

The red-head snorted. “I had a little search through social media, like I do every morning, and I came across something quite strange.” The tone was playful, almost mocking and it made her fall back onto the mattress with a groan. “Can you guess what I found?”

“Regret,” Marinette grouched.

“Almost!” Alya pushed her roughly, causing her to move along to make room for her on the bed, and cause her stomach to churn uncomfortably. “It turns out Chloé had an eventful night and made a new friend along the way. Who knew she even had _friends_?”

Turning on her side, she looked at her bespectacled friend with narrowed eyes. “You know Aurore.”

“Aurore's a pure goddess sent from above to befriend everyone,” was the dismissive reply from Alya as she waved her hand to emphasise her point. “So, what convinced you to sneak out like a teenager and spend the night dancing?”

“I _am_ a teenager,” she pointed out. “I didn't have much choice—she was very forceful.” Well, it wasn't a lie. “She kept insulting me to make me do things; I feel very manipulated.”

Laughing, Alya enquired, “Oh? Is that why there's a video of you drinking shots?”

“There's _what_?”

There was. It was awful, and her embarrassment only increased when Adrien and Nino—she decided they were both traitors—gave it more attention. The increased influx on her personal accounts had been consistent since her relationship with Adrien was revealed, even more so when photographs of her together with him were posted. The added buzz from Chloé made the numbers bump up more, though it was nothing compared to what the _Ladyblog_ gained on a bad day.

Questions about _Le Dessinateur_ were sent to the blog daily. Alya had the habit of replying with ambiguous answers, or messages that had no text at all, which only caused more of a stir due to the playful responses.

It was made worse when Adrien announced they knew each other on the internet—it wasn't a lie, of course, but that didn't stop her from visibly wincing when she read the public message, not having been informed of his decision to acquaint both sides of their life. They were said to be working together, fans having gotten the wrong idea and assuming that Lady had a much larger part than she really did, so it was no wonder that Adrien would have fun with the idea.

“What's the harm?” he mused, cheek pressed against his cell phone so the sound was slightly muffled. “No one's going to see a picture of you and assume you're Lady just because you're with me. As far as people know, I knew Marinette first. There's no connection.”

It didn't stop her worrying though. “I—”

The smile was audible in his voice. “It's okay. I'll do my best to protect you.”

“You trip over your own feet,” she deadpanned.

His laugh was loud, as wonderful to hear as ever. “I never said I'd protect myself,” Adrien defended himself half-heartedly. “Don't hurt my ego too much, darling.”

“I don't know...” Marinette trailed off playfully. “It wouldn't harm you to be taken down a notch; to fall from your pedestal and all that.”

An exaggerated gasp was audible. She could imagine him doing dramatic hand movements, too, which brought a smile to her lips. “Then don't put me on a pedestal! What if I'm scared of heights?”

Shaking her head, she answered bluntly, “Then you need to talk to the whole of France and other countries, not your girlfriend.”

“I'd rather talk to you, though. You make me happy in all the right ways,” he murmured, quieter than his previous words. There was a pause of silence before he continued just as low, “You're leaving me soon, aren't you?”

She resisted the urge to laugh. “I have to sleep to be ready for tomorrow, yes.”

“The last time you said that you ended up partying with Chloé.” There was restrained laughter in his tone, too, which only made her smile in fondness. He had had too much fun over the past week lording over her with the fact that she'd rolled out of bed to follow the whims of his friend (that and the pictures were hilarious to him, especially one of the ones where Marinette looked confused rather than happy to be there). “Promise me you won't let out your wild side, and only then you can sleep.”

If he could see, she would've rolled her eyes. “I actually have to go to university tomorrow. If Chloé comes knocking, I will _not_ be answering.”

“Let's be real here, Marinette. She wouldn't knock.”

She snorted at that. “Why are you whispering to me anyway? I thought you were tucked away in private.”

“Nino's playing with Plagg in the other room,” he readily explained, blabbering onto say, “with my aunt. She would absolutely tease me if she heard some of the things I say to you.”

That was news to her. Adrien was more than happy to have a peaceful night with his cousin for dinner, after having work to do that morning that required him to be up at the crack of dawn. He'd provided plenty of pictures which featured him making disgruntled facial expressions—for her eyes only—and she'd responded in kind with her resting her face on the countless scraps of fabric on her desk. Rose had cleared out her workload from her bedroom, so Marinette's bedroom was a open space for her to scatter her various projects around.

Shuffling underneath the duvet, Marinette pointed out, “Maybe you shouldn't say them if you're embarrassed to be overheard. You should stop with the puns, too.”

“It's completely different to making bad jokes,” he retorted.

Humming in amusement, she questioned, “Is it?”

“Absolutely.” He didn't miss a beat. “I've been making _amazing_ jokes—not bad, you're a bully—since I was little. They've heard just about everything at our family dinners; however, they haven't heard me trying to flirt with my girlfriend.”

Unable to resist, the dark-haired female murmured, “I'm glad you realise that you're trying and not succeeding.”

“ _Marinette_!” he exclaimed, aghast.

“Oh, what's that?” she said, voice shaking with laughter. “It's time for me to sleep unless you want me to snap at you in the morning.”

Adrien grumbled back, “If you have to threaten me, you must really have to sleep.”

When he called in the morning, to make sure she was awake to travel to university in time, Marinette didn't answer, choosing instead to send a incoherent message that didn't quite have words.

Sometimes, it was strange to wake up and realise that they really were dating. When she was sleepy and grumbled whenever she was addressed, he sent her morning messages to wish her a good day. If she happened to answer the occasional call when she'd woken up, he'd laugh rather than be offended, and when they woke up in the same bed, he'd either allow her to wake up on her own time, or gently prod her in the hopes of his tentative actions working.

They'd been dating for five months, almost six by that point, which still had her bewildered that they'd managed to make it that far at all. Sure, there had been harassment—still was, her room-mates were included in the habit of throwing away the random letters that appeared in their letterbox—and requests for information, but there hadn't been any unpleasant fans in person, attempting to belittle her like she'd had negative daydreams about in the past.

It was—everything was _nice_. Adrien was sweet, patient and an utter dork that made her constantly clutch her sides in laughter with her cheeks hurting from smiling.

He promised not to distract her for the remaining week. It was stressful, filled with too much coffee, burnt tongues all around, and encouraging messages that sometimes had her cheeks burning from the affectionate look she wore in public. Alya and Rose had finished their exams, had handed in any work that was needed, and were resting in their apartment before they decided to travel back with their belongings together for a portion of the summer. They'd agreed not to stay cooped in their apartment for too long—but that led to a problem.

The difference from their previous year was that Marinette was a wary owner of a cat. She couldn't leave the feline to fend for herself in the apartment for weeks, nor was it a good idea to release her into her parents' home (it would be a health hazard, and she'd recently found out cat fur had the tendency to get everywhere).

It was with conflicted feelings that she accepted Adrien's offer of looking after Tikki. He promised that he'd look after her to the best of his ability; assuring her that he'd keep Plagg separate so there wouldn't be any fights, even going as far as to promise to lock his own cat in a room for countless hours and endure his whining.

“Consider it an early birthday present,” he said with a wink as he kneeled on her bedroom floor, a carrier settled down beside him. The door was closed to stop Tikki from bolting, but that didn't mean they were having success with getting her out from underneath the bed. “Pussy care and all that.”

Marinette tried not to laugh. She shot him an unimpressed look, complete with her arms crossed underneath her bosom, which caused him to grin wildly. “It'll be a real treat if you manage to get her out of there.”

“Well, can you spare any of your fabric scraps?” he enquired, settling himself down to be comfortable. “We have to be creative unless you want to have your flat all to yourself. Oh, think of the fun we could have...”

She kicked him lightly on the side. “I promised to visit you, didn't I?”

His grin met his eyes. “You'll be coming to see this darling cat, not me.”

“Careful,” she murmured, rolling her eyes. “You're starting to sound desperate.”

“For your attention? I should think so.” Adrien laughed happily as she busied herself with finding a scrap of fabric that was too small to use in the future. “I feel very neglected lately. Who else will tend to my fragile ego if you won't?”

Balling the fabric up in her hand, she threw it at him. It fell pathetically onto the floor rather than hitting him as she'd attended. The blond-haired male raised his eyebrows, indents clear on his cheeks as he grinned.

She huffed. “Post one picture anywhere then your ego will be restored; actually, it might be even bigger if you feature yourself partially undressed.”

“Oh, are you jealous?” he teased, leaning down on his elbows as he waved the material in hopes of catching the cat's attention. “I _could_ write your name on me if you wanted me to...”

“That would be the worst surprise in the world,” she retorted, knowing full well it was within his strange ideas to actually come through and do it. “Let's stick to kitty care, okay?”

It took a good half an hour to get her out. Adrien had used a towel to wrap the struggling honey-coloured feline up, managing to get a few scratches on his arms that drew blood. She apologised repetitively, feeling worse when he laughed it off with a shrug, assuring her that they would be healed over before his arms needed to be photographed.

His next job was featuring his father's fashion line— _Gabriel—_ that was set to be a suit of some kind. Adrien was tight lipped, teasing her with casual remarks on the material or hints, never outright telling her. She didn't push him, though; it wouldn't have been fair if she found out prior to when the designer wanted to reveal it.

Alya had a similar view to Nino's work, no matter how irritated she grew when her boyfriend deliberately hid the script in odd places around his apartment. Apparently, he'd stuffed it along with his socks one evening, where the red-haired female found it when she'd wandered in search for a pair of socks, as she'd forgotten to wear any.

She held onto Tikki's carrier for the whole drive. Plagg was tucked away with Nino, so the apartment was clear. Marinette had insisted on bringing the litter tray, along with the bowls that her cat—it was strange to refer to her as that—was accustomed to, and her favourite toy, too. The bed that Adrien had bought was unused and left behind, but he never made a comment on that. He knew more of the whimsical ways of pets than she did.

Sat on his sofa, watching as Tikki stayed pressed against the back of the carrier, refusing to come out despite the open door, Marinette questioned softly, “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course,” he replied happily, carefully sitting down beside her. They'd already grown accustomed to trying to move slowly when Tikki was around, so they wouldn't startle when she quickly ran away or made a noise of protest. “I have the space to help out, so why wouldn't I?”

She rested her chin on his shoulder affectionately. “I feel bad, that's all.”

“Well,” Adrien began, placing a light kiss to her forehead that had her cheeks growing warm. “How about you stay with me for a few days over your break? If you can fit me in, that is.”

She narrowed her blue eyes. “Isn't it _you_ that has the busy schedule?”

A lopsided smile tugged on his lips. “I might've cleared it up in hopes of spending time with you.”

“ _What_?” Marinette squeaked, recoiling to sit up straight with an alarmed expression. “Tell me you're joking, please.”

Her protests were briefly muffled by him kissing her until she swatted at his arm. Adrien pulled away with laughter, smile reaching his evergreen-coloured eyes. “Okay, not quite. I cancelled a job once I remembered who their preferred photographer is. As nice as the designer is, I _really_ don't have the patience to be told I need to look like I'm thinking of spaghetti for an unknown amount of time.”

“Can you afford to do that?” she enquired, eyebrows knitting together. She'd heard of unlikeable photographers before, of course, along with any of the other staff members. Adrien had said nothing but kind things about his work, though he did sometimes mention that it required no shame with their bodies, which caused a few awkward moments with new employees.

His smile was reassuring as he bumped their shoulders together. “It was either that or be a total diva and demand another photographer. I hate having to do that, so yes—this is fine. My career isn't going to be ruined just because I turned down one job. It'll give someone else a chance, too.”

“If you're sure,” she murmured, dubious. “What do you have planned for the upcoming weeks, then? If you want me to stay, I need to know when it could be possible.”

The reaction was instant. Adrien grinned widely, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace before he pulled away and exclaimed, “Really? You'll stay?”

He was eager, that was the best way to describe it. Marinette looked at the smile that reached his eyes, the indents on his cheeks clear, and felt her own lips tug into a fond grin. “I'm sure I can fit you in,” she stated.

“Do your parents want you to help out at home at all?” he questioned, bypassing her question of her activities, too animated to realise that she truly wanted to know. Once the topic changed onto something that made him perk up, he tended to have a bad habit of focusing on one thing. “We can work around whenever it's not busy, if you are.”

Shaking her head caused her fringe to fall into her eyes. “No, they're having trial runs for new employees. I'm free to laze around upstairs and have my stomach constantly growl from the enticing aromas.”

He winked playfully. “Make sure to smell that appetising when I see you.”

Tikki came out after thirty minutes, moving fast in a haze of dark orange, her spotted fur too blurred to make out properly, before she found refuge in a dark corner away from them. Marinette didn't feel embarrassed when she addressed the cat and then Adrien with good-byes.

The following days consisted of Adrien sending blurred pictures of her cat. He was attempting to bond with her in the strangest ways, reporting back his failed plans that were complete with pictures of him frowning. He even posted a picture online—that had a dark blob hiding underneath his bed—with the caption: ' _Marinette's cat hates me but she's so cute!_ '

Rose's socks were in her suitcase when she was unpacking in her childhood bedroom. Rolling her eyes, she began to set aside the different articles of clothing, laughing when she managed to pull out one of Alya's favourite shirts that she had bemoaned about it having been lost for many months. Her parents were welcoming, showering her in kisses to her cheeks, tight and warm hugs, and words of encouragement that were always reassuring to hear.

She didn't have a summer assignments to do, so Marinette was free to spend her time as she pleased. Which meant she was able to do devote more than a few spare moments to her hobbies. She retrieved the sewing kit that she'd packed, the sewing machine that was slightly rusty (that her mother had bought second-hand, back before puberty), and used some of her money to visit local stores and markets in search of inspiration and available fabrics.

Adrien called her each evening, either on the laptop or her cell phone, and made a point to spend time with her due to her sudden availability. Sometimes, Nino was there, visible on the camera, lounging on the sofa with a bored expression or with large headphones on, ignoring his cousin's presence without a care. Apparently, he found it hard to remember his lines if he didn't relax himself first before reading them, therefore his preferred method was to blast loud music until he deemed it time to start.

The first time she met Juleka's girlfriend, Lila, it was in a local pub that was nearby from everyone's homes. She was tanned, had shining chestnut-coloured hair that fell to her waist, along with a sharp fringe, and brown eyes that complimented her appearance. To put it short, she was wholly intimidating according to Rose, who'd stiffened when they'd walked into the establishment together, not prepared to see Juleka and her girlfriend cooped up at a table, holding hands with muffled laughter as they wanted for the rest to arrive.

She wasn't so bad. Her smile was attract—just like the rest of her—and she had a nervous giggle that escaped when she knew that she'd messed up a word. The language barrier was there; Juleka tried her best to explain phrases and slang, to ease the transition, and the pretty-eyed female was more than happy to try to understand. Lila was able to understand well, and write, but speaking the language was another matter for her.

When alcoholic drinks came out, resulting in their small group becoming more boisterous and drawing attention from the rest of the occupants of the pub, that was when they tried to communicate with vague hand gestures rather than words.

It was nice, though. Juleka was clearly happy, so it wasn't a surprise that Rose excused herself to the bathroom for longer than necessary. She was hiding any jealousy she felt—if Marinette didn't know who held her affections, she wouldn't have guessed it (just like she hadn't for all those years together). Rose's smiles were genuine, laughter not forced, and she was one of the most animated while trying to talk to Lila.

-x-

Her parents had moved onto trying their next applicant for the assistant position. They were forced to dismiss the last as she had been caught purposely damaging the food on display so she could eat them in private. They were stubbornly used to managing the store with just the two of them, so they were adamant that only a truly competent employee was worth it—they were onto their fifth.

After shrugging on a thin cardigan, Marinette wandered downstairs, aiming to peek into the store to see what was happening on her way past. Due to the lack of queue—it was early morning, the crowds appeared when the sun became brighter—she stepped through the front door, smiling in greeting at the new face that was behind the register.

They were putting a lot of work on him, then. Her parents were bound to be hidden in the back, peering to see how their trial employee reacted to different customers.

“Welcome! What can I get you?” he questioned, a nervous smile on his lips. If there had been anyone else in the store, his quiet voice wouldn't have carried over to her.

From staring at him, awkwardly not replying instantly with a greeting as she should, it took a few seconds to make a connection in her mind. She pictured chubbier cheeks, hacked off a lot of his height, and it was from seeing his eyes flicker, choosing to look anywhere else but at her due to the pregnant pause, that caused her to feel recognition. He'd matured over the years—taller, shoulders broader—but the slight curl to his brown-coloured hair at his nape gave him away.

Marinette questioned, “Jean?”

His expression shifted when he recognised her; hazel eyes widened, smile becoming genuine as he laughed and exclaimed, “Hey, Marinette! What are you—I'm dumb.” Jean shook his head, fluffy strands becoming messier from the movement. “Of course you're here. Are you moving back in here?”

“If we're being technical, I'm only visiting,” she answered, waving a hand to dismiss his idea. “I had no idea you applied for this! I never thought you were the type to sell sweet things that you couldn't eat.”

His facial features scrunched up. “Not much choice around here, I'm afraid. I—not that I wouldn't _want_ to work here, it's very nice, I can assure you—”

“It's fine,” the dark-haired female reassured him, deciding to take pity on his awkward hovering by the register. She pointed out her selection, collecting the coins from her bag. “It's nice to see you. It's been a few years.”

And it had. Jean had been her brief boyfriend—the very one that had stolen the calculator due to poor funds—before he'd introduced her to his friend from a different school, who'd she'd dated for longer than she should've due to his shy nature, even though she had been quite reserved for a fourteen-year-old. They'd parted ways when they entered different colleges (she wasn't sure where he even went, or what he had been doing with his life before he appeared in her parents' store), and although she'd met with some of her previous friends before university, Jean had never appeared with them.

He bobbed his head in a enthusiastic nod. “Do you want to exchange numbers or something? It might be nice to keep in touch.”

She'd opened her mouth to respond, only to be distracted by the demanding sound of her cell phone. Offering him an apologetic smile, Marinette ducked outside as she pressed it against her ear, murmuring, “Hello?”

“Hello to you, too,” Adrien greeted, a happy tone clear in his voice. “I was expecting a monster to answer the phone, but it seems I've been graced with the presence of my wonderful girlfriend.”

A snort escaped her. “Real charming, Adrien. I thought you were busy until this afternoon.”

“I might be calling you on my break.” There were muffled noises in the background, too mixed together to identify them correctly, and all she could think was that of course he'd slink away just for a chance to tease her in the morning. “Are you off out somewhere?”

“I'm meeting Alya for lunch,” she readily replied, adjusting the strap of her bag.

There was a pause. “Marinette, you usually don't even have breakfast at this time, let alone lunch.”

“It's a bit weird that you know my schedule,” the dark-haired female grumbled. “We're going shopping for a bit first—she wants to buy a new game that came out and browse until I complain that I need food. Do I need to be worried about you stalking me with this information?”

His laugh was abrupt and loud, surely startling those around him. “If I was really worried, I could just hire a private investigator to follow you.”

She breathed audibly. “They actually have to investigate something, not follow your obscure demands because you want to know what I do with my day—which weirdly includes my eating habits.”

“They'll research to see if you have any secrets you're keeping from me,” the blond male continued, syllables shaking with his amusement.

Their conversations that evolved into silly comments and teases never ceased to make her laugh fondly. “How about instead of spending unnecessary money, you spend time with me instead?” Marinette suggested, annunciating slowly as though she was talking to a child.

“You've got good ideas,” he agreed. “But that doesn't mean I trust you—what if you transform into a creature in the moonlight?”

If he could see, she would've rolled her eyes. “And your ideas are awful. Why am I dating you?”

Adrien laughed. “I'm more persuasive in person.”

It was a nice afternoon out. They travelled further than expected, deciding to make a day of it since they didn't have any prior arrangements to rush off to. When they were walking on the streets, warm drinks in their hands as there hadn't been any seats left in a nearby café, her response to someone else's drink being thrown at their feet was to gape in surprise. The brown liquid splattered across the pavement, decorating the exposed skin of their legs, and Marinette realised with a jolt that the girl who had thrown it—a teenager, young at that—was glaring openly at Alya, silent before she walked away without so much as a word.

“...Okay,” Marinette started, searching to see whether she'd picked up napkins to clean up. Her white socks might possibly be stained, but she had plenty of pairs to replace them. “Any idea what that was about?”

Alya's first answer was a non-committal noise as she grabbed their drinks and deposited them into the nearest bin. She happily accepted the offered tissues that Marinette had found, wiping her own tanned legs clean. “No idea. I've never seen that girl in my life, but she looked at me as though I murdered her pet.”

“Bit harder to deal with than hate mail,” the dark-haired female muttered in disbelief.

Alya bobbed her head in agreement. “At least we're not being harassed by paparazzi—it could be a lot worse.”

“It might happen with Nino's new film,” she pointed out, hoping that her legs wouldn't feel sticky. The culprit had already walked away and disappeared into the crowds, though she doubted that confrontation would be the answer. “Has anyone asked for anything more than Nino's autograph?”

The grin on her friend's lips was mischievous. “I might've taken bids on his underwear in one of my classes. It took half of the lesson until they realised I was joking.”

“That's mean,” she chastised, a fond smile tugging on her lips. “You might need to be careful with the photos you post on the blog over our break this year—there's a lot more attention than before.”

Linking her arm through Marinette's in an affectionate move, their shoulders were pressed against each other as they walked. “Well, that might have to do with the fact that your lovely boyfriend has decided to point fans towards more than a few of them lately.”

“He has?” Marinette queried, trying to recall whether she'd seen them. She'd been too wrapped up in her assignments to properly pay attention to social media, especially when Adrien made a point to tell her about his day from her own lips. “That's nice of him, I guess.”

“Yes,” her bespectacled friend agreed. “Silencieux isn't very active on his own accounts, so now we at least have one confirmed person that knows, well, _you_ , to dispel any negative rumours or comments.”

There wasn't a problem to be had with that. The idea was a good one, therefore she wasn't irritated at Adrien for taking the decision out of her hands; he was working with her—Lady—so it was only right for people to assume they were friends. Other than the _Ladyblog_ , they didn't run any other social media accounts with the pseudonym, meaning comments and questions were solely managed on the one platform, so it was amusing to see him being queried.

They looked up some of the questions, laughing to each other at the absurd ones. One in particular asked whether there'd be an upcoming Lady photograph with either him or Silencieux in the frame, which excited Alya far too much. Marinette promptly turned down the idea, stating it was a terrible choice due to the anonymity Nathaniel had created for himself throughout the years. He was happy being in the background as his normal self, and she wasn't going to compromise that for online popularity.

Alya rolled her eyes. “What's the harm in taking a picture with your boyfriend?”

“Exactly that,” she pointed out, stretching her arms above her head with a pleased noise as they shuffled outside once more. “I'd rather keep them separate than have people connect the dots and bug me more than they already are. I'll stick to the angry fans sending me weird notes, thank you.”

“You do have a point,” the red-haired female reluctantly agreed. “Adrien's girlfriend's address is a lot different to Lady's being out on the internet.”

She nodded. “I wouldn't put it past some perverts to send used clothing in the mail or something.”

“Or tissues.”

Marinette hit her harder than intended, looking just as surprised as her friend as the sound of the impact was audible around them. “I'd say I'm sorry, but that thought will haunt me for an unknown amount of time.”

“You'll get over it,” she quipped. “Then you'll get some loving from your model boyfriend, and everything will be fine. Actually, speaking of good times—when are you going to stay with Adrien?”

It shouldn't have been a surprise that Alya had her own source of information (that wasn't her). Nino was more than happy to tell her anything she wanted, which resulted in silly tales of his childhood that the red-head happily recounted when their conversations lulled. The bragging rights of Alya revealing online that she used to sleep in Nino's bed when she was younger had died down, but the stories of his time there hadn't.

A smile tugged on her lips. “I'm not sure. Maybe next week? It depends on his schedule, really.”

“What's tying you down here?” Alya asked, raising her eyebrows. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you brought some clothing to work on while you're there, if that's what it is. Taking a break would be fine, too. We're not struggling for rent any more, Marinette.”

There were multiple things. They'd spent a lot of time together—as much as they could—and slept in each other's beds with wandering hands, and mouths, but she didn't feel pressured to explore the sexual aspect of their relationship. She was comfortable with him, enough so to snort in laughter at his bad jokes and playfully push him away when they were in public, but their time had been scattered and between obligations.

She settled for saying, “I don't want to overstay my welcome.”

“Okay.” That wasn't the end of the topic, though. “I'm going to ask you a few questions and I want you to answer them honestly.”

She blinked. “You already know my bra size.”

“I know a lot more than that, too.” Alya flashed her a smug grin, linking their arms together despite the heat. “Has he rejected spending time with you before because you were on your period?”

If it wasn't for the support from Alya's arms, she would've fallen on her face when her shoe caught on the uneven stone. “...No?” Marinette replied once she'd straightened herself out. “We don't really talk about that. When I say I'm unwell, I usually don't add on the fact that it's period cramps.”

“All right, I can understand that. You might want to find out if he's squeamish about your womanly bodily functions before you get married, though,” her bespectacled friend mused, a bounce in her step as she led them down to the bus stop. “Has he ever tried to get you out of his apartment?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Marinette answered honestly, “These questions are pointless.”

“So are your excuses,” retorted Alya. “He's excited and even took Nino shopping for new shampoo for you.”

Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, she accused, “You're kidding.”

“I'm really not.” With her hand gesturing to where her cell phone was stored, the red-head added, “I even have picture proof of Adrien holding different bottles, trying to get Nino to open them to smell whether they're good enough. He's really happy that you said yes, so stop being silly and go before he has to work again.”

“...I could've brought along my own shampoo.”

Her eyebrows were raised above the frames of her spectacles. “This is the same guy that bought you a toothbrush designed for children, Marinette. You're lucky that Nino talked him out of buying you personal towels.”

“It's becoming quite scary how much you know.”

The wide grin she received could only be described as smug. “I'm a fountain of knowledge.”

-x-

There really was shampoo bought for her. Marinette didn't comment on them at first—in fact, the stray comment had been pushed out of her mind until she walked into the bathroom—and chose not to bring them up, yet when she'd deposited her belongings into the bedroom, Adrien was the one to happily point them out.

She didn't mention that she knew he contemplated towels, too.

His arms were warm and welcoming, much like the open space of his apartment, and he kissed her enthusiastically with his fingers threading through her thick hair. Rather than falling into a haze of lust like she'd expected, the kiss was cut short when he'd pulled back to exclaim about the new additions to the bathroom, the fact he'd forgotten to go grocery shopping, and filled her in on the small details concerning the cats in his home that she'd forgotten to ask about.

The updates had been daily, but seeing Tikki curled up underneath the curtains in the living room was something else. Plagg had been with Nino for as long as he could, and he was set to return the following day when the curly-haired male had to travel.

She was dreading it. “What if they fight?”

“Plagg prefers to screech rather than pounce and attack. The most he'll do is make high-pitched noises at her for a few minutes before he gives up,” Adrien assured her with a laugh. “If they really dislike each other, I'm still open to locking Plagg in a room.”

“Isn't that a bit unfair?” Marinette mumbled, eyes flickering to the lump in the fabric of the curtains. “It's his home, and you've had him for a lot longer.”

He made a humming noise. “You're worrying too much about this, Marinette. Don't worry, okay?”

It was pushed out of her mind after that. They relaxed on the sofa—leather sticking to her bare thighs uncomfortably whenever she shifted—choosing to spend the evening inside together. She'd arrived late afternoon, the bright sun causing sweat to collect on her skin, and was more than relieved that he had air conditioning.

It was nice to spend time together—it seemed natural, even. There weren't awkward lapses in their conversations, nor was she stuttering over her words from nervousness. In the beginning the thought of being alone with him had her heart racing, but now it caused a fond smile to appear, and a somewhat exasperated laugh to escape when she realised the jokes she had to prepare herself for in the long run.

He was comfortable, she realised. To her, Adrien was warm, soft-hearted and gentle, someone that wasn't afraid to make awful puns or splutter from self-consciousness at some of his word choices. He accepted his slips with grins, recovered when he literally fell over since he'd been too preoccupied to stare at her, and offered affectionate touches and embraces throughout the day without worrying about who saw them.

They went shopping for groceries the following day. Adrien drove them—his bodyguard having been told to have the week off, who only accepted after the blond-haired male reassured him that he'd contact him if they ventured out to anywhere that required the company—and insisted on pushing the cart, even when she insisted they didn't need one of the largest ones.

“This would count as a workout if you got inside it,” Adrien mused, slowly turning a corner (she found out that even without items weighing it down, he wasn't the best at steering the trolley). “Then I wouldn't have to leave you to go to the gym.”

The stoic look she gave him only made him laugh.

When he did go to the gym—mandatory, he couldn't skip out if he wanted to indulge in dinners with her—Marinette fetched her own laptop and settled down on his bed, content with knowing that her cat was hiding underneath the bed. She spoke with friends on social media, ignored the linked articles that mentioned Adrien's girlfriend (the label, rather than her own name), and e-mailed her parents to make sure that everything was okay.

A look on the _Ladyblog_ proved that it was still popular. The latest picture had too much of her legs on display, though thankfully not her underwear. Alya had an unhealthy amount of fun with posting each image, especially with the playful comments she sometimes put beneath.

Adrien returned later that evening clad in tight clothing with damp hair, and a black bundle of fur against his chest.

“Hi, Plagg,” Marinette greeted, focusing on the feline that was placed on the bed, rather than the view that was offered as Adrien searched through a drawer for a change of clothes. “That was quicker than I expected.”

“I was gone for over an hour,” the blond responded, running a hand through his hair before he grimaced. “I'm going to take a shower. Think you can entertain yourself for ten minutes?”

Humming loudly in contemplation, she tilted her head back slightly. “I don't know about that. What could I possibly do with myself while you're gone?”

His grin grew wolfish. “Well, I can think of a few things.”

“Nothing that I'm open to doing with two cats in the room,” she chastised, shaking her head fondly. Her gaze flickered to the black-coloured feline that was making himself comfortable on the duvet, clear in sight and hard to miss. “I'll be fine, go ahead.”

Rather than doing a dramatic movement as she expected, Adrien simply stated with a straight face, “You wound me.”

“In all the best ways,” she interjected, smile reaching her eyes. “Why would you be with me if you didn't like it?”

“You're pretty good at kissing,” the blond-haired male proclaimed, half-heartedly gesturing to her with his hand. “That has to count for something, right?”

With slow movements—to avoid making Tikki dart out from underneath the bed, therefore announcing her presence to Plagg—Marinette stood up from the bed, placed her hands purposely on her hips and raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you trying to say only my lips are worth something to you?”

His gaze flickered down her body, lingering on the exposed skin of her legs, before he looked her in the eyes again with a lopsided smile.

“How rude.” She breathed out loudly through her nose, sock-clad feet squishing into the carpet as she approached until their toes were almost touching. “I'm truly offended, Adrien.”

It was clear that she was teasing. Adrien gently unclasped one of her hands with his, thumb tracing patterns on the warm skin she had to offer. His hair wasn't as damp any more—the ends were curling in different directions, that wouldn't be fixed until he used a comb, and it was a messy styled that suited him, even without the tight clothing.

“How can I make it up to you?” he murmured, warm puffs of breath close enough to feel on her skin. With noses brushing against each other, she turned her head to the side before their lips could connect; instead, his lips connected with the flesh of her cheek as an incredulous bubble of laughter left him. “Really, Marinette?”

He didn't pull away, so he could feel her smile. “I told you, my feelings are hurt. You can't just kiss them better.”

“Are you trying to tell me your feelings are located elsewhere?”

Pushing him away lightly, Marinette retrieved her hand to brush the wispy strands of hair from her face. “Nice try.” And it was—another time she would've gone along with it to see whether it would turn into a situation where their eyes would become half-lidded. “You need to go shower, remember?”

“You're a tease,” Adrien accused, clutching the change of clothes to his chest as he disappeared.

The eventual confrontation between the two cats happened just before Adrien came back. Marinette had placed her laptop away once more, stretching her arms above her head happily. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Plagg had stopped kneading the duvet and had jumped onto the floor, staring silently underneath the bed where she knew Tikki was.

Well, at least they weren't hissing at each other yet.

Adrien appeared with a towel around his shoulders, lazily patting his dripping hair as he padded into the room. A look to the floor, noticing Plagg's aggressive stance, he raised his eyebrows in question as his eyes flickered to hers.

She shrugged. “No hisses yet, but they've been staring for a good few minutes.”

“Tikki's still under the bed.” It wasn't a question. “We should've taken advantage of the time we had alone last night.”

Colour warmed her cheeks at that. She'd fallen asleep embarrassingly fast when they'd settled into bed, leaving no room for other activities. The kisses that peppered her skin in the morning had reassured her that it was fine, though that didn't stop her from groaning in disappointment when she'd squinted and realised that it was a new day, meaning that they'd have an new addition to his home from that evening onward.

Although the cats didn't fight—which she was entirely thankful for, she wouldn't have been able to deal with hissing and scratching, let alone the high-pitched noises that she sometimes heard outside—that didn't mean that they were friendly. Tikki kept to the shadows, and Plagg either stared at her or continued on without a care, happily jumping over his owner to demand attention.

When she showered, she made sure to compliment the products. She was rewarded with the tips of his ears turning red, which she found to be endlessly adorable when paired with his bright smile.

They passed the time with stolen kisses, attempting to coax Tikki out with Plagg's toys—which turned out to be entirely unsuccessful and only made her retreat further—sometimes settling down to play video games together on different platforms, where it didn't surprise him that she had a knack for grasping the basics of the game easily, and generally lazing around rather than braving the warm weather outside. The most she had to deal with was her skin sticking to his leather furniture.

“We could go to a pool,” Adrien mused after he remarked that the ice in his glass had melted too quickly. “Unless you don't know how to swim? Then again, there's not that many people that _don't_ know—”

She settled her glass down on the coffee table after finishing her own drink. “If this is leading up to you offering to teach me how to swim just so you can touch me inappropriately in public, please stop.”

“It would be classed as appropriate if I was helping you,” he pointed out with a lopsided smile. “Unless someone looks underwater at my crotch, then it would be pretty awkward.”

Laughing, Marinette cheekily answered, “Strangers check you out on a daily basis, Adrien.”

“I wish you would.” Dramatically leaning back against the sofa, he placed a hand upon his chest with an exaggerated expression. “I feel so unappreciated.”

Her lips twitched as she tried not to smile as she deadpanned, “You literally have your face plastered on billboards in different countries.”

“I'd much prefer to be plastered all over you, darling.” And with that, he added in a cheesy wink for good measure that had her rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I think that you don't like my flirting.”

Marinette did snort at that. “You call this flirting? If I wanted immature lines, I would still be dating one of my ex-boyfriends.”

His gasp was audible. “Not the calculator thief, I hope.”

“You remember that?” the dark-haired female asked through her laughter, surprised that he'd retained that small piece of information at all. They didn't talk about their past relationships often—in fact, she didn't bother herself with worrying about his, as they had no place in their conversations and it was pointless to worry about them when they were insignificant—so she thought it was understandable to be taken aback from his notice. “I—he wasn't awful, but it was before I even grew breasts, so our interactions didn't go past holding hands.”

It wasn't until she caught sight of his teasing smirk that she'd realised what she said. Marinette quickly shook her head, causing the end of her ponytail to hit against her neck from the movement.

“Oh, please tell me more about your growing breasts.” The dimples of his cheeks were on display, smile reaching his evergreen eyes. “And I'd like to point out, you did have more than your hands being held when you were younger.”

She breathed out loudly and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “It doesn't count if I can't remember it, Adrien,” Marinette scolded, narrowing her eyes playfully. “And you've already said that you didn't do anything more than kiss my cheek.”

“There's so much to your cheeks!” he insisted, hand gesturing to her with a flourish. “Look at all that skin that I could've potentially put my lips to. Oh, the possibilities.”

Lightly, she slapped his hand away. “Are you trying to say I have fat cheeks?”

He blinked, evergreen eyes flickering to skip between his hand and her face. “Maybe you're right about my flirting.”

“I'm pretty much always right.” She grinned.

They stayed inside a lot, preferring to be in a personal space together (along with their cats that were stubbornly staying on opposite sides of the room), reducing the possibility of journalists or paparazzi bothering them outside. It was positively _domestic_ , and that thought caused a bubble of happiness to become apparent within her. Spending time with Adrien had her cheeks hurting from smiling more than usual, and she found herself comfortable enough to walk around with unbrushed hair after a shower or kiss him in the morning before she'd brushed her teeth.

Her feelings for him had caused sweaty palms and made her heart beat a tattoo against her chest on multiple occasions in the past—it had evolved into affection that didn't have self-conscious thoughts becoming known when their lips touched, nor when his fingertips brushed over her body tenderly.

It didn't hit her fully until they were cooking dinner one evening, shoulders and hands brushing with smiles as they exchanged tasks to each other.

Saying he was unkempt wasn't correct; the blond tresses of his hair were a mess—he hadn't done anything to it other than run his hands through it—he had scratches littered across his arms that hadn't quite healed, and a visible bruise from where he'd tripped and hit the coffee table. This Adrien, the one without make-up that wore loose clothing without a care and wasn't worried about his appearance, was the one that made her heart warm as her lips parted in realisation.

She loved him.

Before she could do anything with that, Adrien spilled sauce on his t-shirt while cooking, then turned to her with a smirk that hinted at mischievousness. He pulled it off in the middle of the kitchen purposely slow, tufts of golden-coloured hair appearing as he stretched his arms teasingly above his head, making his muscles move as he did so.

She stared at him flatly and turned up the heat on the stove.

“ _Marinette_!” he exclaimed with a laugh, t-shirt clutched in his hands as a make-shift shield to cover himself from the splatters coming from the bubbling pan.

“You're the one stripping in the kitchen,” she retorted, smiling widely as he walked away to change. “This is why people wear aprons!”

By the time he'd returned in a black t-shirt with an obscure logo on the front, he didn't have a good comeback. They ate their food with a comedy show playing in the background, most of their attention on Plagg approaching Tikki's designated curtain. There wasn't anything more than staring in the end, but they still joked with each other that it could potentially be the showdown that they'd been expecting all along.

On the fourth day, Adrien casually questioned, “Isn't it your birthday soon?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“Are you planning anything for it?” he prodded, fiddling with his cell phone. “I probably should've asked Alya instead of you, but this works.”

It was a terrifying thought to think of him and her red-haired friend exchanging numbers and passing information back and forth. “I—I don't think so? Our friends are scattered around the city, so last year I managed to convince her and Rose that I wanted something small between us.”

“Was it as tame as you wanted?”

“No.” Marinette laughed, running a hand through her hair at the memory. “They dragged me out to different nightclubs and convinced others to buy me birthday drinks. It gets a bit blurry at the end of my recollection.”

Nodding his head in understanding, he pocketed his cell phone once more, though she suspected that he'd contact Alya at a later time. “Do you want to do something? T-together?”

The colouring that had appeared on his cheeks made her smile grow warmer. “I'd like that.”

That evening, when Plagg was curled around himself on the sofa asleep while Tikki was enjoying the darkness of her curtain, Marinette felt a surge of confidence as she quietly stood up, taking the blond-haired male by the wrist to lead him towards the bedroom. There wasn't room for him to complain—which wasn't likely to come from him in the first place—as when the door had shut without a creak, she'd intertwined her arms around his neck, pressing her lips heatedly to his.

He responded in kind. Fingers explored the small of her back, tracing teasing patterns into her skin as their breaths became heavier, faster. Marinette had her head tilted to reach his in the comfiest position she could find, his arms supporting her as she put pressure on her toes and gently bit on his lower lip.

With a audible breath, she slipped her tongue within, intertwining her hand with the hairs on the nape of his neck. They felt soft, nice to touch, and hers to mess up as she pleased. A pleased noise of approval left her as he guided her to the bed—wary hands directing her, ready to catch in case she managed to stumble as she'd happened to do one night in the past.

Their kisses were still clumsy at times; the clashing teeth didn't deter them, nor when either of them applied too much pressure with their teeth. There wasn't the need for perfection, to rush to please each other completely—it was warm and comfortable, much like the rest of their relationship.

She'd found out that he was good at taking off her brassiere. He didn't fumble with the hooks with flushed cheeks, though his expression did appear close the first time he'd looked at her bare breasts with widened eyes. Marinette's own face had coloured considerably, but that didn't cause her to attempt to cover her body because of it. It was probably the look she'd given him the first time he'd stripped completely.

The black t-shirt was tossed to the floor beside hers, the rest of their clothing soon followed with heated kisses stolen between movements, and she fell back onto the bed, Adrien climbing readily on top of her.

Cold air pooled over her, causing pleasant sensations as Adrien littered kisses across her neck, applying them to her collarbones in a tender way, fingertips skimming over her breasts in a teasing fashion. On his journey, he nipped at times, sucking to apply pleasure in certain areas that he knew made her squirm, and avoided touching her in the areas she wanted the most. It seemed as though his mission was to tease her to the best of her abilities, even when she had her thighs tightening impatiently on either side of his legs.

With her hair splayed out across the mattress, back pressed against the softness of the duvet and pillows to prop her head up for comfort, she pushed at his shoulders when his lips had began to trail across her stomach. He understood her intention—not thinking that she wanted to stop, as he had in the past—and complied happily by moving onto his back so she could climb onto his lap with a wide grin.

His hands were on her hips, caressing her as she leaned down to capture his lips once more. It soon evolved into her trailing her lips across his neck, much as he'd been doing earlier, while making sure not to leave any marks. Whereas pictures of her with bruises on her neck would matter, she didn't want to cause problems for him, even if he insisted they could be covered with make-up. When she pulled back, contemplating her next move, he laughed as her breath splashed across the damp areas of his skin.

Even in their intimate moments, she wasn't afraid to laugh when his fingertips tickled her, nor when he muttered an incoherent sentence that would've definitely had her eyebrows raised at any other time. Adrien with his hair mused from her fingers, lips glistening red, swollen from her own, with colouring to his cheeks that brought out the green of his eyes, was a sight to see; knowing that it was _her_ that caused it—and he didn't want it to be anyone else—had the heat pooling in her abdomen surge with a vengeance.

Scooting backwards on his thighs—that she certainly had stared at for longer than needed at times—she tentatively grasped his member and squeezed in appreciation. His breathing was audible, loud even, as she began to move her hand slowly.

His voice almost caused her to jump. “What are you thinking about?”

Marinette blinked, hand stilling for a moment as her attention flickered. When she looked up to meet his half-lidded gaze, she blurted, “It's warm.”

The laugh that escaped him was abrupt and honest. “We don't have to do anything you don't want to,” he assured her, the breathlessness of his voice the only reminder that her fingers were curled intimately around his arousal.

A smirk appeared on her lips. “What makes you think I don't want this?” she murmured, thumb brushing against the sensitive tip as she resumed her movements, applying more pressure to the base as she went. “I wasn't intentionally ignoring you.”

Her heartbeat was thundering, and she was sure that his was, too. She watched the curve of his throat as he swallowed, lips parting before his tongue peeked out to wet them, and was reminded once more of how attractive he was.

“Should I be offended that your mind is going elsewhere?” the blond-haired male questioned, clearing his throat after.

Her hand didn't still. Marinette watched his reactions to her movements, satisfaction twisting with her own thundering pulse that was loud and demanding between her legs. “I was thinking about you,” she confessed softly, warmth flooding her cheeks.

“You need to work on your dirty talk,” he joked, smile reaching his bright eyes.

She wetted her lips. “Are you calling my love for you dirty?”

One of the hands on her hips slipped slower, fingers dancing across the swell of her backside. This close she could see that the ends of his eyelashes were tinged blond, the clear indents of his dimples when he truly smiled, and the scattering of red that she thought was endlessly adorable, especially when it was due to her own words or actions.

“I wouldn't have you any other way,” Adrien assured her, hand squeezing her in appreciation.

Her own smile was wide. Marinette released her hold on his arousal, choosing to wrap her arms around his neck in an embrace, resting her warm face onto his shoulder as she mumbled, “I really love you, Adrien.”

Fingertips trailed up her back before they buried into her own hair. “That's reassuring. I was starting to doubt it for a moment there.”

She bit his shoulder to reprimand him. “I'm being serious here, dork.”

His laughter was almost musical to hear. The hand in her hair dropped to her neck, and she pulled back, propping herself up with one arm as the cradled her jaw in such an affectionate way that had her cheeks continue to flame. “I love you, too,” he murmured, half-lidded eyes gazing at her.

Their kiss could've been considered from the slowness. It was tender, filled with affectionate brushes of their hands over each other's skin, and panted breaths that made the intimate moment seem even more personal. With every shuffle, she was reminded of the arousal that was pressed against her stomach, the demanding heat that matched her own and was surely a replica of the needy pulse between her legs.

His lips were reddened when she pulled back, the sight causing her heart to beat a tattoo against her chest.

“Do you—” Marinette cleared her throat, licking her already wet lips. “I—do _you_ want to—”

Despite her stuttered words and the stumbling, Adrien's eyes widened in what she hoped to be understanding. “Are you sure?” he asked lowly.

She nodded.

Smiling, she didn't mind when he eased her onto the bed with a bright grin of his own, laughing at some of the enthusiastic kisses that were pressed across her face. His lips wandered once more as she relaxed into the pillows, breaths audible as his teeth briefly nipped on the flesh of her darkened nipple before his hand reached further down. It wasn't purposely slow as his fingertips trailed across her cleft, nor when he inched a single digit within her with tentative movements. Her hair had been pushed back, allowing him to apply sweet kisses to the crook of her neck, hot breaths spurring on her aroused state.

She shifted her hips in hope for more friction and was granted the addition of another finger, her teeth grazing her lower lip for a moment, and a steady rhythm of his hand that had her closing her eyes as noises of appreciation escaped. With a hand tangled in his soft hair, Marinette moved her body along with the curved fingers that were granting her pleasure, the coiling within her abdomen intensifying as her breaths grew louder.

As his thumb created circular motions against her protrusion, the breath she released was audible.

“Adrien,” she called, wetting her lips.

Although she could feel his smile against her skin, his hands didn't still.

She batted his shoulder gently, pushing him away and therefore freeing herself with a laugh. He had the gall the look offended for a moment, before happiness burst into his expression and made itself known—from the soft look in his eyes and the dimpled cheeks, she was sure she was close to combustion from the affection.

“Still sure?” he questioned, resting his forehead against hers.

Her eyes flickered in appreciation. “Yes.”

As he moved across the room, her eyes didn't stray. Marinette took in the curve of his body, the muscles as he leaned down to collect an item from a drawer, and when he sat upon the edge of the bed, she scooted along to press light kisses onto his shoulder. She could see his eyelashes at that angle, could appreciate the attractive features on his face, and the parted lips that she wasn't shy about capturing with her own any more.

The foil was discarded on the floor—much like their clothing—and he settled between her opened legs, her thighs pressed comfortably on either side. She wound her arms around his neck, assuring him softly that it was _fine_ , and it seemed that those words were the trick to have him look at her with such a tender expression that she couldn't resist connecting their lips once more.

The kiss was brief. Adrien pulled back, an arm propping him up so he wouldn't crush her, and searched for any signs of hesitation. It wasn't the heated intimate encounter she'd always read about, but that wasn't something to be disappointed with—Adrien was kind, attentive, and the bright smile he gave her once he'd fully accepted that she was fine with it was utterly sweet.

She could feel his arousal pressed against her own; heated flesh warm and demanding, pulse thundering for attention and friction. She shifted, hand curling around the material of the duvet in preparation for the incoming sensation.

A soft kiss was applied to her cheek, and that was what made her realise she'd closed her eyes. Marinette blinked, returning the smile tentatively. She wound her arms around his neck, eyelids closing to cover her blue eyes as she kissed him softly.

With one of his hands on her hip, fingertips pressing into her skin, his member pressed against her entrance and gently edged forward. It was tentative and a slow pace that was surely for her benefit. There was a moment of adjustment as she became accustomed to the intrusion, a slight sting that was squashed by the pleasurable kiss that was there to ease her discomfort. Marinette returned the kiss with passion, caressing the hairs at the nape of his neck as she gently moved her hips in a silent invitation.

When he was fully situated within her—releasing a gasp that was muffled by her mouth—the hold she had on the tresses of his hair grew tighter. With a subtle shift of his hips, a mixture of a pleasure and surprise escaped her, spurring his slow movements on. There was a sudden onslaught of sensations; the nails on her hip that were sure to leave little half-moon indents, the demanding heat between her legs, and his teeth grazing her lower lip as he deepened their kiss.

As he moved himself back to reposition—sliding in to the hilt again—she broke away with the kiss with a moan that was incoherent. While he had been hesitant and patient in the beginning, the breathless noises had increased with his confidence. Marinette inhaled sharply as he adjusted his grip on her hip, effectively raising her hips for a better position that had her mouth opening in a silent plea.

Her moan was louder than before as he thrust again, and her fingertips began to claw at him as she attempted to lift her hips to meet his movements. The room was filled with the sounds of their panted breaths, the desperate moans that escaped both their lips (that had her heart hammering from knowing she could entice such noises from him), and the sound of their slick flesh colliding. The pace was somewhat erratic, yet she found no reason to complain as another pleased sound escaped her reddened lips.

She moaned his name.

Pleasure rippled through her as his pelvis rubbed against her protrusion per thrust, adding to the delectable amount of sensations she was already feeling. Marinette's legs felt weak, shaky, and it was a surprise that she was able to keep them somewhat wrapped around his waist.

The kisses that were applied to her neck were wet, his tongue soothing the areas that he'd bitten in a comforting way that had her toes curling. The pleasure was building within her; insistent, demanding for increased friction, and she was aware that the noises escaping her were increasing in volume as his movements became desperate, making her realise that he was experiencing much the same as her. The nails digging into her hip were still there, a steady reminder of his aroused state, and it was with one more roll of her hips that her muscles convulsed, pressing tightly around his legs and holding her to him as he rutted against her.

Her breaths were pants as her eyes flickered open. Adrien was in much the same state as her; sweaty strands sticking to his forehead, face coloured a delightful shade of red, as his body shook and his eyes were clenched shut, eyelashes creating shadows on his cheekbones.

She brushed the damp hair from his face, smiling as she placed a soft kiss to his temple.

He winced as he withdrew as gently as he could, a loud breath released as he sat down beside her, attempting to catch his breath.

Sitting up, Marinette brushed some dark strands behind her ear as she murmured, “Well, that proves you're not saving yourself for marriage.”

Raising his eyebrows, Adrien started, “ _Well_ —”

“Oh, no,” she interjected, expression turning smug. “You got demoted to boyfriend, remember?”

His laughter was a tad breathless.

-x-

Plagg was there in the morning, stretched out between them like a barrier to stop them from touching intimately. Marinette looked at the scene before her groggily; half-lidded blue eyes flickering between the pleased feline and Adrien's face that had red marks scattered across it from his pillow. His hair was a mess from having not fixed it after the amount of times she'd touched it the night before, and she was sure hers was, too.

She slipped back into bed after a trip the the bathroom, pleased with the prospect of spending another day in the personal bubble they'd created.

There had been a few images of the two of them grocery shopping on the internet, but that was about it. They hadn't ventured too far together, and definitely not enough to warrant the company of his hired bodyguard because of his paranoid father, and there was a lull in both of their social media accounts. Marinette's cell phone had been turned off while charging the previous day, and she hadn't bothered to turn the device back on. If there was anything important, she was sure that her parents would e-mail her, and her closest friends were capable of contacting Adrien if something needed to come to her attention.

They played games in loose clothing, bemoaning the hot weather.

“Are you just really good with your hands or something?” Adrien questioned, adjusting his grip on the controller, eyes focused on the screen. “I swear you're a monster at just about everything.”

Laughing, the dark-haired female happily teased, “Maybe the problem's with you?”

His gasp was dramatic, and she was sure that if his hands weren't busy, he would've placed one upon his heart in a truly ridiculous way. “How _dare_ you.”

“Someone has to ground you, remember?” Marinette grinned. “It's not my fault that you're only talented at being attractive.”

“I don't think that counts as a talent,” he mused, voice coming out in a sigh at the end as the screen flashed with bright colours, signifying his sudden defeat. “Maybe we should make this interesting.”

She shot him a sly look. “You want to make it so you can enjoy defeat more?”

“It's actually really attractive when you get competitive, but yes,” he confirmed, placing the controller onto his lap. “How about per game, the loser has to take off a piece of clothing?”

The humming sound she made was drawn out as she looked at his grin. “Okay,” Marinette agreed, a mixture of anticipation and arousal stirring within her, “but just so we're clear, socks count as a whole. You can't just take off one.”

“Marinette, I'm not even wearing socks.” He made a displeased noise as he shook his head. “It's far too hot for that—I'm not insane like you.”

“Now you're starting to hurt my feelings,” she chastised, bumping her shoulder against his lightly. “And don't even think about trying to distract me when you're missing clothing. It would be classed as cheating.”

The innocent expression he tried to pull wasn't fooling her. “You sure have some strange expectations of me,” Adrien murmured, amused.

With a smile that met her eyes, Marinette allowed her gaze to wander as she scooted back to her side of the couch. “I hope you're ready to strip, handsome boy.”

Winking, he announced, “All you have to do is ask, darling.”

Before they started playing, he pointed out that she had on more clothing than him. Marinette had stared at him with raised eyebrows, stubbornly keeping her feet clad in socks, refusing to budge from the spot. He'd given in after a few moments with a fond sigh, disappeared into his room and returned in record time with a belt looped through his shorts, but not done up.

“You're ridiculous,” she scolded.

Smiling, he settled down beside her and grabbed the controller he'd stored out of the way. “Or am I secretly a genius? This most definitely counts as one—now we're even.”

“Yes, yes,” the dark-haired female agreed, a fond smile tugging on her lips. “Now can we get to you stripping?”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Marinette. Thank you for your support.”

Scooting over so her thigh was touching his, she replied cheekily, “I will definitely be your biggest fan when you've lost, don't you worry.”

He snorted. “Are you trying to say you're only with me for my body?”

“If that was the case, why would I put up with your bad sense of humour?” Laughter escaped her as he jutted his lower lip out and furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “Okay, okay,” she tried to placate him. “It can't be that bad if you can get me to laugh sometimes, right?”

“I'll hold you to that.”

It wasn't that Adrien was bad at the game; he was quite good, but Marinette had played it for endless hours over the years, especially when it came to their small group of friends. The belt wasn't the first piece of clothing to be taken off for him—while he had that exaggerated pout still on his lips—but rather his shirt. The blond tugged it over his head, folding the material half-heatedly and laid it onto the back of the sofa (in hopes of Plagg not latching onto it later).

He caught onto where her eyes were focused and teased, “Is the only way I can win by distracting you with my body?”

Even though her cheeks coloured, she wasn't embarrassed. “Why don't we find out?”

As it turned out, it was. Adrien had shifted beside her and her eyes had flickered for the briefest of moments, but that was enough for him to win that time. His expression was smug—lopsided smile, self-satisfaction in his bright eyes—which only made her competitiveness flair in response.

Her shorts fell to the floor and his eyes slowly trailed down to the floor. When her fingertips hooked into the top of her underwear, that was when her expression matched how his had been moments ago. As the material was discarded carelessly onto the floor, she knew Adrien's green eyes were staring at her, and then her backside as she purposely leaned forward to collect her shorts and step into them once more.

“Onto the next one?” she asked innocently.

The belt came off after she pointed out he couldn't take the shorts off and then put it back on top of his underwear. Then the shorts joined his shirt on the back of the couch, and in favour of glancing at him from the corner of her eyes—admiring the skin on display and the obvious arousal that was straining against the material of his underwear—Marinette took pity on him and lost a round.

He caught onto it, though. “You're doing this on purpose,” Adrien accused, amusement clear in his tone. “Am I really that pitiable that you felt the need to lose?”

“Honestly, I chose to check you out instead of beating you this one time.” Tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear, Marinette placed the controller beside her as she pulled her socks off, placing them onto the floor. “Next you'll probably choose to attract my attention in a weird way.”

Not denying it, he said, “What if I tell you a secret instead?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that secret really worth one piece of clothing?”

“ _Fine_. I'll behave, but you better watch out. You're only one behind me, Marinette.”

The laughter that escaped her was honest as her eyes flickered down to his lap. “You only have one left, Adrien.”

“And thinking about it will distract you enough for me to win, then we'll be even,” he proclaimed, hand moving along with his words. “That truly counts as a showdown, right?”

“I don't think it'll be much of a loss for me, even if you do manage to somehow win,” she replied, grin growing wider.

The tips of his ears were red, but he wasn't embarrassed. “You're talking big for someone so small,” Adrien teased, dimples clear on his cheeks. “Let's see if you'll pull off all that cockiness.”

“I'm not as bad as you,” Marinette murmured, eyes flickering downcast.

She could see the exact moment that he understood her words, because his smile grew wider before breathy laughs escaped him heartily. Hearing him enjoy himself was always nice, and it was an added bonus that the noises came from her intended silly words.

Teasing words were exchanged throughout the rounds, sometimes bumping elbows from their enthusiasm, and they pulled ridiculous faces at each other despite their state of dress. It was fun, truly—but that personal bubble they'd erected was burst with the sound of approaching footsteps. Marinette was the one who heard it first; her eyes widened as her head snapped up, looking in the direction to see the approaching figure without comprehending that they weren't in a welcoming state for newcomers.

They'd managed to pause the game when they came into sight.

“Dude, sorry to bother you—” Nino had started, voice breaking off as he released an exasperated laugh. “Fucking hell, really? No, don't try and look innocent, Marinette. I can see that you're trying to hide your underwear under your foot.”

Adrien chose to groan, not bothering to attempt to cover himself up. “This doesn't look like it qualifies that rude entrance, Nino.”

“My bad for interrupting your strange mating ritual,” the tanned male grumbled, brown eyes flickering between his cousin's undressed state and then Marinette's clothing, as if trying to figure out the story behind it. “You're not answering your phone, so I thought—yeah.”

“Did I miss something?”

As they spoke, Marinette tried to discreetly pick up her underwear, hiding it in a bundle in her hand with suspiciously warm cheeks.

“As much I love you two, you're both idiots,” Nino chastised them both, fetching his cell phone from his pocket. “While you were living and ignoring the rest of the world, that doesn't mean people have forgotten about _you_.”

Suddenly the idea of her friends getting in touch with Adrien if they needed her didn't seem as smart any more. Marinette tentatively cleared her throat, catching Nino's attention as she pulled the clothes from the back of the sofa with her intentions clear. “What's happened?” she questioned.

Nino's expression flickered for a moment. “I—well, it's not good. Maybe you two should get dressed for this.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “We can do that.”

The bespectacled male disappeared off to the kitchen, but Marinette still excused herself to the bedroom to change into a new pair of underwear. When she returned, he and Adrien were sat on the sofa—the blond-haired male begrudgingly dressed in clothing again, the only reminder of their time together being the controllers and the belt left on the coffee table.

“What's going on?” she queried, not jumping in surprise as Plagg brushed her legs on his way past. “Adrien furiously scrolling through your phone isn't exactly reassuring.”

His expression shifted into a grimace. “I'm really sorry about this.”

That was a surprise to hear. Marinette looked at the crease between his eyebrows that wasn't fully covered by the tresses of his blond hair. “Have you done something to apologise for?” she asked simply.

“Not directly,” he hedged.

“Then I doubt that it's your fault, Adrien,” she assured him, although her mind flickered to the worst case scenarios. It was already well known on the internet that they were dating, though she couldn't fathom why he felt the need to apologise—he was more than happy to tell her about his days, so there wasn't a reason to doubt him for being unfaithful. “How about you just tell me outright?”

Nino made himself known as he stood up, hands brushing the creases from his shirt. “With that said, I'll make my leave.” He plucked his cell phone from Adrien's hand with raised eyebrows. “Try not to scar the little ones too much, okay?”

“They're over ten years old!” Adrien called back loudly before the front door closed. Running a hand through his hair, messing the tresses up further, the smile slipped from his lips as he looked at her expectant expression. “I still think this is my fault, so I'm sorry in advance.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“I—let me just get my phone, okay?” Without giving her the chance to reply, he fetched it from the kitchen counter, leaving her with her nervous heartbeat that wasn't getting any slower due to his tentative replies. “If you want to go home, I'm absolutely fine with that, too.”

“Adrien,” she said softly, nervous hands fiddling with her fingers on her lap. “Instead of thinking I'm going to bolt out of the door, how about you actually show me what this commotion is about?”

He breathed out loudly. “Okay, okay.”

The cell phone was passed to her, and instead of looking at the illuminated screen, she kept her eyes on him as his hand played with the hairs at the nape of his neck, a nervous movement that caused her stomach to churn uncomfortably. Marinette wetted her lips before she looked down, noting that there were a couple of tabs open to pick from.

Unfortunately, they had the same information churned out in different ways. The thumping pulse in her head was deafening, but that didn't stray her attention from the article in her hands.

The source was left as anonymous, but revealed to be familiar with the both of them. It stated that they'd been personally told some months ago that Adrien was dating Lady by Marinette herself, and then didn't stare anything further. It was simple deduction from there on that added it together—there was a picture taken from one of Alya's social media accounts which showed Marinette in an outfit, dated from almost a year ago, and then a match up of Lady wearing the same thing.

Some blogs had decided to search through others, attempting to post similar clothing side-by-side, all the while tagging either Adrien or herself in the posts.

“Oh,” she murmured, unsure what else she could say. It wasn't the worst situation to find herself in, and it was far sooner than she would've liked. Yet, as she sat there with the cell phone in her hand, Adrien nervously looking at her as though he was sure she'd bolt and leave as soon as possible, she found a smile tugging on her lips. “Okay,” Marinette said, putting the cell phone onto the coffee table.

He blinked. “ _Okay_?”

Tucking hairs behind her ears, she pointed out, “Well, stressing over it isn't going to fix anything, is it?”

“Oh,” Adrien breathed, lips curling into a smile. “I guess that's one way to look at it.”

 _PREVIEW: “Sure, I might cry a bit and curl up in a blanket, but that doesn't mean I can blame anyone else for my mistakes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://xiueryn.tumblr.com/) (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡


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